This Ain't a Romeo and Juliet Thing
by Tarafina
Summary: :AU: Noah Puckerman has one goal in life; to become a famous singer. Rachel has one too; to make his high school life a living hell. But when quarterback Finn Hudson is forced to join Glee, a surprising alliance will bring about a whole lot of change.
1. Part I

**Title**: This Ain't A Romeo And Juliet Thing  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Drama/Romance/Humor  
**Ship**: Puck/Rachel; background Finn/Quinn  
**Rating**: Teen  
**For**: Puckleberry Week on Tumblr – Day 4 – Genderswap/_Role Reversal_  
**Word Count**: 9,052  
**Summary**: Noah Puckerman has one goal in life; to become a famous singer. Rachel has one too; to make his high school life a living hell. But when quarterback Finn Hudson is forced to join Glee, they have to team up to keep him from toppling the school hierarchy, and more importantly to Noah, taking his spotlight. It isn't long before close quarters breeds an unexpected friendship that might just do more for and against them than Finn's love of song ever could.

**_This Ain't A Romeo and Juliet Thing_**  
-Novel-

**I. **

Thumbs hooked in the straps of his backpack, Noah Puckerman stood grinning at the sign-up list for Glee Club. He had high hopes that this time it wouldn't blow up in their faces. Since he'd had Ryerson fired for being _way _too into his students, he'd kept an eye out to see who might step up and take over. Shuester didn't seem bad, sure he was living way too much in his Golden years, but he expected that was better than perving on the kids. All Noah wanted was for the club to have a real chance. He'd been working his ass off for this since he was four years old and his pops let him hold his guitar, fingers plucking carefully at the strings. He'd made up some tune that even now didn't make much sense or sound remotely good, but at the time it had been perfection. It had struck something in him; some deep, personal note that told him this was what he wanted. That nothing in the world could ever be better than the music that came directly from him.

So he took guitar lessons and piano, drums, and even got a handle on the accordion. Because one day, mark his works, Noah Puckerman was going to be playing at the Grammy's and this Podunk town would be long behind him. He and his guitar were going to travel the world and never look back. He had to give his ma credit; she never gave up on him. Even when his dad cut ties and ran off with a waitress, sending divorce papers in the mail and leaving the raising of his kids in Aviva's already full hands. Not when she had to take on more shifts at the hospital and needed Noah to step up and help raise his baby sister, Sarah. Not when everybody they ever met told them that maybe he should find some realistic dreams. Instead, Aviva told him that she was glad he had his music; that he could be the dreamer for both of them. And it didn't matter that everybody he went to school with told him he was a loser or he couldn't sing or called him a homo just because he had a spiritual connection to music. All he cared about was getting through high school, being accepted to a prime performing arts school, and chasing that seemingly unreachable fame that he just _knew _was waiting for him.

He signed his name quick and fast and then read over the other few people, all of whom he somewhat knew, mostly because they ran in the same general circle of loserdom and musical talent. But he wouldn't call them friends. If he were being honest, Noah couldn't say he really _had _friends. Maybe back in elementary school, before people noticed the guitar and realized he just wasn't like the rest of them. Back when Finn Hudson, Matt Rutherford and Mike Chang would ask him to join them for a game of basketball at recess. Before they went their separate ways, them to sports and him to music, and then popularity sprung up and it just wasn't cool to be seen with a guy like him.

Whatever.

He didn't need them anyway.

He didn't need anybody.

'Cept maybe his ma and his sister. His biggest supporters, coming to all of his gigs, recitals, plays, whatever showcased him in any way. Even if it meant calling in sick to work or taking an out of town trip, they were there, cheering louder than anybody. He couldn't explain what it meant to him, knowing that even if nobody else cared, they did. And one day he was going to repay it to them. One day, he'd buy them a house, a real big-ass one, that made all the yentas at Temple jealous; everybody in Lima who looked down on them would regret ever thinking he was anything but talented and bound for fame.

He'd just taken a step back, his smile larger now, dreams of his inevitable future lifting him up. And he'd pivoted on his foot to walk away; it was back to the grind of high school, but at least he had this to look forward to. He hadn't taken even a step before his face was covered in red slushee. He closed his eyes, but he felt the icy sting all over. It dripped down his face, globbing up and falling to the floor. His hunched shoulders fell and he raised his hand up to swipe it away. He didn't bother turning around to see who did it, because he knew.

He could still smell her perfume; the scent he'd come to attribute to dread. Funny, because it was actually pretty nice; a vanilla musk that, had anybody else been wearing, he might've taken a deep, appreciative breath of. But this was Rachel Berry, head bitch in charge and current leader of the Ruin Noah Puckerman's Life campaign. He wasn't sure exactly when it started, but for some reason she went out of her way to make him miserable and the icy slushee facials she greeted him with on a daily basis were only the most recent torture device in her repertoire.

He pulled his wet shirt away from his chest, where the fabric had begun to clung to his skin, and with a scowl now replacing his previous smile, he stomped toward the bathroom to change. He cursed under his breath as he swung his shirt off, chunks of slushee falling off him in melting chunks, and dug out a new one, using paper towel and tap water to scrub away the cherry corn syrup from his skin. He gripped the porcelain sink for a moment when he was done and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't look so different; tall, broad shouldered, and he lifted weights and jogged every morning so he was in pretty good shape. He figured appearance would help him later when he became a kickass singer, so it only made sense to keep it up now. Maybe his clothes weren't the latest fashions, but they were comfortable; jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid button up. So in the end, he figured it had to be his drive that pushed him out; that kept the others from accepting him.

He could stop carrying his guitar with him everywhere. Quit glee club. Keep his vocal lessons private. Or hell, maybe he could even give this whole thing up. The music, the dream of playing for a sold out arena, the huge house he'd buy his family, moving them out of Lima and away from its toxic bullshit.

The idea of his ma having to stick around and work night shifts until she was dead on her feet, exhausted, missing out on life, was what made him stand a little taller. His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth in resolve. Noah Puckerman wasn't a quitter. And he didn't care if Rachel Berry or her little band of popular nitwits, armed with a slushee in each hand, hit him every damn day, every hour on the hour, until the day they put that diploma in his hand. He was going to keep his head up and keep doing what he was doing. Because in the end, he would get what he deserved. His hard work would pay off. And they would all regret ever doubting him.

Grabbing up his bag and his guitar, he walked out of the bathroom, lips moving along to the lyrics of the song he was planning to audition with. He didn't care when people snickered or called him names, when jocks knocked his shoulder as they walked by, when teachers pretended not to see. He just went inside his head and imagined the roar of his future-fans, of red carpets and congratulations, of Grammy's filling his arms. And his scowl faded, replaced with that easy smile, full of dreams and hope.

** …**

"How was your audition?" Sarah wondered, sitting upside on the couch, her legs folded on top of the back as she pushed herself up on her arms.

Noah circled around and reached across to pull her shoes off. "All right… There's only like, four other people trying out…"

"You were still the best though, right?" She flipped herself over and landed on her feet, throwing her arms up in the air proudly and nodding like there was a crowd cheering her on.

"'Course, squirt. Always am." He winked at her before walking off to the kitchen. "You have a snack yet?"

"Nooo… Can you make latkes?"

He snorted. "We got dinner in a couple hours."

"So?" she sighed, hopping over to the armchair and balancing precariously on the arm. "You wanna play the lava game?" she asked hopefully, before jumping across and landing back on the couch, never touching the floor.

"Sar, I'm a little big for that," he reminded.

She stuck her tongue out. "Will you keep growing? And then you'll be super tall and you can touch the ceiling with your head and you can lift me up and I'll get the Frisbees off the roof!"

"You get into the sugary snacks again?" he wondered, looking through the pantry for something to eat. "Stuff's not good for you, kid."

"Yeah, yeah, bad for my vocal chords." She rolled her eyes, flopping down on the couch dramatically. "You're the only singer in this family, Noah!" She threw a hand up and pressed the back to her forehead. "I'll just be your really cool sister that everybody wishes they could be."

He laughed. "Good to know."

"Y'think I'll be famous too? Like 'cause I'm your sister?" she wondered. "I could start a clothing line for cats!" She wrinkled her nose up in confusion. "How comes dogs get all the clothes, right?"

He tipped his head to stare at her; his sister was quite the character. "Sure." He nodded. "Clothes for cats; you'll make millions."

Bouncing on the couch seat, she nodded. "Yup!"

"You want apple slices or a granola bar?"

"Ummm…" She leapt off the couch and met him in the kitchen. "How about free roll-ups?" she tried.

"How about I don't tell mom you were jumping on the couch, monkey?"

She sighed. "Fine… Hey, does the granola bar have chocolate on it?" she wondered, reaching up on her tip-toes to see.

He bounced the box off her forehead lightly and then handed her one. "You do your homework?"

Her eyes turned away. "Uh-huh," she said, before quickly racing off.

Rolling his eyes, he shouted after her. "I'm checking it before dinner, so you better get started!"

He heard her grumbling, but moments later the satisfying sound of her bag being dragged up the stairs reached him. Half-smiling, he walked over to the fridge and grabbed out an apple. Biting down hard in the shiny green skin to keep it steady, he brought his bag with him to the laundry room and tossed his slushee stained clothes in the washer. Taking his homework with him, he went upstairs and dropped down at his desk. He had a set-list to revise, seeing as Mr. Shue was way too into Journey and the rest of his suggestions were just… _no_.

Just before five, he put dinner on and in between cooking, he went through his day planner to check over his schedule. Vocal lessons, Glee, school, and Sarah pretty much kept him booked, not that he had a whole lot to do outside of that anyway. With no friends and no extra-curriculars, Noah pretty much only used his spare time to make videos of his musical talent or went where the competitions took him. Still, he checked his book to make sure everything was in order.

When his ma got home in time for dinner, they all sat down and shared stories about their day. He told them all about his audition and wasn't surprised when they asked him to sing it for them, after which they clapped and whistled their approval. So his school life was pretty bad, but he had to admit, his home life was pretty damn awesome.

** …**

"I'm sorry, could you _repeat _that, because I could've _sworn _you just said _Glee Club_…" Rachel said slowly, enunciating each and every word, her eyes wide and her eyebrows hiked.

Finn shifted in front of her from foot to foot. "Yeah, well… It's just… complicated."

Rachel stared, her brows furrowed, as the overly-tall boy before her muttered something about pot and pressure and how Mr. Shuester gave him an out.

She snapped her fingers to bring his attention back to her. "Somehow, I feel like my definition of complicated and yours are _vastly_ different!" she scoffed. Hands on her hips, she stared up at him. "Listen, Finn, I like you." She lifted a shoulder. "And I'm glad that you and Quinn are doing so well…" She drew a deep breath and sighed. "Unfortunately, and I can't stress this enough," she told him, motioning with her hands dramatically, "but there is a _hierarchy _and having you in Glee club tends to shake things up. _So!_" She put on a fake smile and told him with exuberance, "You are going to fix this _complicated _mess and get yourself _un_-enrolled in Glee club, okay?" She reached up and patted the black M on his Letterman's jacket. "Or this school is going to eat you up and I won't be held responsible for it!"

His brows furrowed as he stared at her. "I… Wait… Could you just, maybe, repeat some of that? 'Cause I—I'm not sure I got some or, uh…" He shook his head sheepishly, "_all _of it."

Her face fell, eyes rolling. "_You _no go to Glee Club," she said in her 'you're dumb as rocks' voice. "Or school…" She motioned around them to the busy halls, "will _turn _on you…" She stared at him searchingly. "And _Quinn_, pretty perfect girlfriend, will _dump _you."

"Wait, _what? _No!" He smiled goofily. "Quinn… _loves _me."

Rachel found herself feeling nauseas. Maybe it was the vegan breakfast sandwich she'd had this morning (she really should stick to making her own meals rather than buying out, busy schedule or not), or maybe it was the lovesick look on Finn's face. Possibly it was the mere fact that _Finn Hudson, _in all of his dopey good-boy wholesomeness, might _actually _cause a stir in her life. Because the truth of the matter was, he was Quinn's boyfriend, and Quinn, despite her cold, manipulative center, really did have a soft spot for him. Which meant that Rachel's second in command on the Cheerios was going to lose some serious popularity points if her quarterback boyfriend went and signed up with the band of geeks that made up Glee club. And on top of that, Quinn was loyal, so she might even follow him right into the den of Loserdom.

Rachel could not have that. She and Quinn had maintained a show of aligned power since the end of elementary school when they recognized that they had an opportunity to run middle- and high school if only they worked together. It helped that prior to that, they were friends. However, that friendship had long turned into something more of a necessity. Where once two young girls had found easy companionship in one another, now two young women recognized that together they could reign supreme among their fellow masses. At this point, it wasn't so much that she _liked _Quinn (although there were times she admired the girl's gumption), so much as that she needed her if she planned to continue to rule the school. And she did. She was well aware of what awaited her outside of these walls; with graduation brought the sad reality that she would be nothing more than McKinley Royalty of Past. At best she would attend Ohio State and go on to work some boring, lifeless job before marrying a handsome jock that didn't age well, cheated on her, and left her with little more than bratty children who tired quickly of the many stories she'd tell of when she was their age, stretch marks, and a whole lot of regrets.

Pessimist? No. Realist? Yes.

Maybe it was growing up in a house where she was reminded that dreams wouldn't pay the bills or maybe it was just learning as school went on that being different, standing out, did little to charm the masses. It was a struggle to begin with, growing up in Small Town, America with two gay fathers. She often wondered if that was why she needed Quinn; to balance out that one abnormality so the lynch mob wouldn't kick her off her pedestal. Truth be told, Rachel wouldn't trade her parents for anything; she wouldn't wish them straight either. She loved them and how much they loved each other. But sometimes it was hard to remember that with the full force of the school looking on at her, expecting her to always be in control, always be perfect, otherwise they'd tear her to pieces.

So was she going to allow Finn Hudson to bring her down?

Absolutely not.

Which left two options, really. One, get Finn to quit Glee before anybody caught wind of his indiscretion. Or two, make Glee club cool.

The second was practically impossible. Why, just last week she'd reminded Noah Puckerman that it wasn't and would never be cool, in the form of an icy cold beverage to his admittedly handsome face. Of course, as usual, he didn't take the hint, and she'd later seen him walking down the hall with that same infuriating smile on his face, trusty guitar in hand.

Just thinking of him made her gut tighten.

There was something about him, or perhaps just his aspirations, his unbendable belief that he would be a star, that made her irrationally angry. She couldn't explain it, really. Although she'd tried to, many times. In the safe privacy of her bedroom, she would let herself ponder the enigma that was Noah Puckerman and why just the sight of him, the very _thought _of him, spiked her temper. Once, when she'd brought it up to her daddy, he asked her if perhaps she was jealous.

She'd scoffed then, and even now a small guffaw left her lips.

_Jealous! _The nerve! Of _Noah Puckerman_! A boy who, for as long as she could remember, had never had friends, never been looked up to or admired. All he had were dreams that would lead to nothing but disappointment and a ratty guitar that never left his side. What in the _world _could she possibly be jealous of?

"Uh, Rachel?"

Her eyes snapped to the boy in front of her, still fidgeting, his lumbering body looming over her petite form, looking nervous and unsure. What did Quinn even _see _in him? Rachel looked for confidence in a partner. She looked for the same drive and ambition that she herself had and there was _none _of that in Finn Hudson. Sure, he was cute; in a dopey, puppy-dog sort of way. But he was nothing _special_. And wasn't that just what Rachel wanted? Someone unique; someone who stood out. Some small part of her wanted somebody who wouldn't want her simply because she was Queen Bee, but because they liked _her_; they liked who she was, inside and out. But given who she was, and where she stood on the popularity scale, she didn't know many boys who'd tried to find out anything more than whether she took the Celibacy Club seriously.

Truthfully, she didn't. Sex was an inevitability, especially concerning hormonal teenagers with little self-control, and Rachel believed in being educated in sex rather than trying to avoid the obvious. But she supported Quinn in her endeavors if only for the fact that should she ever need backing, she had something to remind Quinn of. But that didn't mean that Rachel spread her legs for just anyone, willy-nilly like. In fact, she _was _a virgin, not that she was broadcasting it around. But the boys she'd known were all so… _boyish_. Firstly, to become intimate with a boy would mean to bare all; body and soul. And trust was a huge issue for her. Who could she possibly trust in this school not to stab her in the back as soon as he left her bed?

No. It was better to wait until high school and its see-saw politics were behind her. Perhaps college would be her awakening to the world of intimacy; where she might drop her defenses and let in a boy, or man, let him see who she was behind the surface strength. Let him see the fragile, insecure, lonely girl that faked at being happy, surrounded by people who loved her popularity and little more.

"Love is fickle, Finn. Quit the club or say goodbye to little Quinnie," she snapped at him. And with that, she turned on her heel, red and white Cheerios skirt bouncing at her thighs as she walked swiftly down the halls, parting students like the Red Sea.

As she passed by the board where the sign-up list for Glee still hung, despite auditions having already passed, she tore it down and stared at the five names there; Mercedes Jones, Kurt Hummel, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, and Noah Puckerman. A few faded red spots dotted the paper; dried cherry slushee from when she'd emptied the contents in his face. One similar to the grape one she'd tossed at him earlier that morning; a waste too, seeing as it was her favorite. If the way he licked his lips afterwards was any indication, she thought he might feel the same way.

She shook her head to get the visual of his pink tongue darting over his full, grape stained lips out of her head. She glared defensively at his name before tearing the list into tiny pieces and tossing it in a nearby garbage can.

Glee Club was, and would forever be, for losers. And if she had any say, Finn Hudson wouldn't be a part of it. Because there was no way in H-E-double-hockey-sticks that Noah Puckerman would end up being her downfall!

** …**

Unfortunately for Rachel, Finn didn't do well under pressure, and just so happened to have Spanish with Mr. Shuester after lunch. Which meant the last thing he was thinking of as the bell signaled the end of school was not Rachel's wise warning, but Mr. Shuester's reminder that his permanent record would suffer if he didn't attend that afternoon's Glee session and get acquainted with his new team…

** …**

The second he saw Finn Hudson step into the choir room behind a grinning and proud Mr. Shuester, he was out of his seat. "No."

Shue sighed. "Noah, this is a good thing," he reminded him. "Finn here's a good singer and we need more people. If you want to get to Regionals—"

Shaking his head, he stabbed a finger at the tall boy. "We need _singers_, yeah, not juice-heads."

Finn, confused, looked around, before his hand slowly started to raise town his head.

Rolling his eyes, Noah told him, "'Roids, Jock-Strap." He looked back at Shue. "Glee Club is supposed to be about singing; it's about competition and creating a damn resume so we have something behind us when we want into a good performing arts school. _This _guy—" He stabbed a thumb in Finn's direction, "cares about getting under Fabray's skirt and scoring touchdowns. I don't care if he can sing whatever shitty boy-band comes on the radio; he's not serious about this and we don't need him."

So, okay, the first week of Glee had been kind of… pathetic. There were only five of them and they were a rag-tag bunch that didn't seem to gel right together. It didn't help that the room was overflowing with divas and everybody wanted every solo for themselves. But he preferred to think they would all get their shit together, and no way was that happening if they were being infiltrated by the jock squad!

"Noah, you don't know what Finn's serious about," Shue told him. "We all have our secrets… For all you know, he's an avid singer and he loves performing. Don't be so quick to judge a book by its cover."

"What I _know_ is that I've been singing since I was _four_—" He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide with meaning.

"Ugh, here we go again," Kurt complained, rolling his eyes before he picked at his nails.

Noah shot him a glare. "Hey, it's not my fault you were sitting around playing tea party instead of getting your squeaky little voice under control, Hummel."

Brow raised, Kurt looked him up and down with a sneer of distaste. "My _squeaky _voice is _superb_! I didn't need twelve years of coaching to get it that way either!"

"Uh, look, you guys don't really want me here and y'know, I, uh, don't really wanna _be _here, so…" Finn started walking backwards to the door.

"Stop," Shue ordered, raising a hand in his direction. "Kurt, Noah… That's enough." He looked at the three others, "Mercedes, Artie, Tina, a little help here?"

The three exchanged looks.

"We _do _n-n-need more p-people," Tina stuttered, looking between the three men nervously.

"Tina's right. If we want to even qualify for Sectionals, we need twelve members," Artie reminded them, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Noah." He held up his fingerless-gloved hands. "We need him."

Blowing out a sigh, Noah shook his head. "Fine. But if he screws up once, if he shows any sign he's not working his _ass _off to get us there, he's _out_."

Everybody turned to look at Finn, who had a constipated expression, his eyes wide. "Um, yeah, yeah, sure."

"Well, _gee_," Noah mocked, "I'm just super convinced." Rolling his eyes, he grabbed up his guitar and bag and started for the door.

"Noah!" they chorused behind him.

Ignoring them, he shoved out the door, nearly knocking over none-other than Rachel Berry, who stood staring angrily through the door.

"Watch it," she snapped at him, dark pony-tail swinging with her anger.

"Chill, Princess," he muttered, moving past her.

She curled her lip at him before waving a hand dismissively, as if telling him to leave her general vicinity.

Even more pissed than before, Noah stalked down the hall and out into the glaring sun blanketing the school parking lot. Nearly empty now, he walked directly toward his old, blue Ford and dropped his stuff in the back before jumping in and stuffing his key in the ignition, the multiple guitar picks that made up his keychain jangled as they knocked together.

For a long moment, he stared at where the choir room was, though he couldn't see his teammates or the new recruit. It wasn't even that he particularly liked Glee; for him, it was all just a means to an end. But he didn't need Finn Hudson and his good-boy charm snaking in there and trying to take his lead spot. He'd worked his ass off for this and there was no way he was just going to hand it over. But right now, he wasn't in the mood for one of Shue's Journey songs _or _playing nice with a guy who he was pretty sure tossed pee balloons at his house on the regular.

The tires squealed as he took off in an angry hurry, eager to get far away from McKinley.

The drive home was quiet; he didn't even turn on the radio, despite how much it was usually a big stress reliever for him.

When he arrived at the two-story middle-class house, he immediately frowned at the bike sitting abandoned on the grass.

"Damn it, Sar…" Hopping out of his truck, he hung his bag over his shoulder and hauled out his guitar case. With his free hand, he scooped her bike up by the seat and brought it up the porch stairs with him, leaning it against the wall before he stepped inside. Like usual, Sarah was already lying on the couch, her bag left ignored on the floor, books and random junk falling out of the unzipped top, a snack in hand, and the TV blaring too loud.

"Bike, squirt. Put it in the garage or I'm having a yard sale this weekend and I'll make it the main attraction."

Rolling her eyes, she hopped off the couch and dragged her feet as she walked over to the door. Reaching around, she dragged her bike in and walked it through the living room and around to the garage via the laundry room. The outside garage door had been broken longer than Noah could remember and this was one inconvenience among many.

"What happened to Glee?" she wondered, joining him in the kitchen, where he searched the cupboards for something to eat.

"Got out early," he muttered.

Brows furrowed, she checked the clock. "It's only three-thirty."

"Yeah, which means you should be doing your homework," he said, raising his brows meaningfully at her.

Sighing, she muttered, "Butthead," under her breath before leaving to grab her backpack.

Eventually, he settled on a sandwich before dropping down at the kitchen table and taking out his own homework. Math was easy; not his favorite class, but at least he had a head for numbers. He planned on taking care of his own finances when he hit it big; no accountant on the pay-roll who could screw him over in the end.

By the time he was done his homework, his mood was picking up. But when he got it all put away in his bag, he felt his irritation coming back. Who the hell did Hudson even think he was? And why was he even interested in Glee club? Didn't he and his popular buddies all make it pretty damn clear just what they thought about all of this _arts _business?

The front door shutting drew his attention and he looked up to see his ma, harried and exhausted, walk through the living room still in her nurse's outfit.

"Noah," she said, dropping a kiss on his shaved head before she reached up and untied her hair from the tight ponytail she kept it in. "I know it's Tuesday, but I'm tired, so why don't we order in tonight, huh?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. He walked across to the junk drawer and searched for the take-out menus.

Taking a seat at the table, she hiked her feet up onto a chair across from her, wincing some. When she looked up, he had the cordless phone and a handful of flyers.

"You all right, bubbala? You look troubled…"

He glanced at her. "It's stupid," he muttered. "Thai good?"

She nodded her head dismissively at the food request before staring at him thoughtfully as he ordered. When he ended the call, she tipped her head. "What happened?" Her eyes scanned him. "Are you still getting those drinks thrown at you?"

He frowned, eyes dropping. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn't mentioned those to her. He loved his ma, and he knew she'd go to the grave making sure her kids were safe, but somehow it felt like a failing on his part that some tiny little cheerleader could humiliate him with a cup of frozen ice. That first time though, when it slithered down his body and into his jeans, reaching places it should _never _be, he'd been so frustrated, so beyond embarrassed, that he'd almost cried. He hadn't given them that satisfaction, but when he got home that day, his ma could read it on him, and he'd spilled the whole thing to her. She called the school the next day, which was quick to offer false promises that they would look into it and keep an eye out for any of that behavior. They didn't and since Noah was no nark, nobody got in trouble for it. And even now, they were hitting him so often he just brought an extra set of clothes to school. But he washed them before his ma could see them and he made sure to tell her they weren't happening anymore; he didn't like lying to her, but the last thing he needed was his ma on a tear, looking for answers. It would only make things worse and he was teetering on the edge most days already.

"Nah, no, I told you that doesn't happen anymore…" He crossed his arms over his chest. "New kid joined glee…" He glanced at her. "Finn Hudson."

Her brows furrowed. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

He knew why. Because when he was younger, and naïve as all hell, he would come home sometimes and boast that he played basketball with the boys. That even if it was for a little while, just as long as recess lasted, he was considered good enough to play with. And he'd put his guitar aside and join in, happy to have somebody to relate to. But as the years went on and recess was no longer a free-for-all but a dream of childhood, he realized that those guys were never really his friends. He was just an able-bodied kid that could catch and shoot a ball and they'd dropped him as soon as anybody said he was weird, as soon as somebody told him that he was stupid for wanting to be a singer, to be famous. And just like that he was a perpetual loner, with nothing but a guitar and a dream.

"He's a jock; footballer," he told her. "Doesn't care squat about music."

"Then why join?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "Dunno… But it's weird." He thought again about Rachel, how she'd been standing there, looking in the room, disapproval and anger riding high on her pretty face, and not just because she'd nearly been mowed over by him. But because Finn was in that room, joining Glee. And for the first time ever, he wondered if maybe he and Berry had something in common. "He won't last," he decided.

"Maybe he's not as bad as you think," his mother offered. "Could be a good thing even."

He snorted, raising a brow at her. "You don't know these guys, ma. They're…" He ground his teeth and shook his head. "Can't wait 'til I'm outta here and I never have to set foot here, see these people, again."

Her face softened. Reaching out, she covered his hand in hers. "You're too young to be bitter, bubbala." With that, she rose up from her seat, kissed his head once more and left the kitchen in search of his sister.

Maybe he was. But that didn't change anything.

**…**

"He was in _Glee_, Quinn," she repeated, pacing her room, twirling the pink spiral cord of her phone around her finger. "As in _Loser Central_, where showtunes have sucked out what little cool a person has ever had in them."

"Don't you think you're being a _little _melodramatic?" she returned.

"I want you to think about this," she exclaimed. "_Really _think about it. Finn Hudson, _quarterback _to the Titans, singing and dancing with—with the likes of _Noah Puckerman!_"

There was a pause, silence on the other end of the line, before finally a sigh. "What am I supposed to do? I… _love _him."

Rachel rolled her eyes. _Love_. As if! "You have two choices here… _Dump _him and save face—"

Quinn made a noise that said she fully disagreed with that.

"Or convince him to quit."

"Fine," she said. "No more Glee."

Nodding, Rachel drew a deep breath. "_Good_."

"Now can we talk about the routines Coach has us practicing? I can't be the only one that thinks that lift is _insane…_"

Loosening up, she took a seat on her bed and half-smiled. "Insanity is one of her many qualifications… Not that I plan on doing that lift. Is Brittany up to it?"

"And break her neck?" she scoffed. "Santana will tear your face off if you even suggest it."

Reaching over to her bedside table for her nail polish and her toe-separaters, Rachel frowned. "What about… Kelsey?" she suggested.

"Ugh, I _hate _Kelsey."

"Problem solved."

Quinn laughed. "Oh, I almost forgot, do you think the Coach really has Hepatitis?"

She shook the nail polish and took a deep breath, happy to explore the _many _crazy things their coach had said over the years and evaluate which, if any, were likely true.

And not for the first time, Rachel wondered if maybe the vague friendship between herself and Quinn wasn't better than she sometimes thought.

** …**

Noah frowned across the hall at Finn, who didn't look any different than any other day. Leaning against a bank of lockers, hanging out with the jocks, the always quiet Mike Chang and Matt Rutherford present, he laughed easily, looking forever the king of the school.

Noah didn't know what he expected; maybe for McKinley to implode with the news that their prized quarterback was a part of what had long ago been dubbed 'homo-explosion.' But nobody batted an eye or called him names; he wasn't getting slusheed or razzed or thrown in dumpsters. And for some reason, that really pissed him off. It wasn't like he wished that on anybody, but he felt a little let down that he had to go through it, despite not doing anything to anybody to deserve it, while the guy who did it _to _them was joining in the same things that got them treated like shit and didn't have to pay the consequences for it.

It was lame and unfair.

Slamming his locker closed, he walked off down the hall and headed to the choir room.

He spent his lunch working on a song, fingers working heavily over the ivory keys of Brad's piano, trying to push his frustration out of himself and into his music. He sat with wrinkled sheet music before him, covered in lyrics, scratched out here or there, on the brink of completion but never quite there.

He played until the bell rang and he was forced to return to class, to walk among the many students who looked down on him for things they never understood. He watched as Finn walked in the opposite direction, a smiling, admiring Quinn Fabray holding his hand, the perfect golden couple, untouched by what they spread around to everybody else. He looked away, trying to tamp down the injustice that made his hand ball up in a fist, ready to strike out and knock Finn from his prized pedestal. But looking away only brought his eyes to another source of frustration; Rachel Berry.

She was stretched up on her tip toes, her dangerously long, tanned legs on display beneath her short skirt, arm stretched up to reach her book, perched barely out of reach on the top shelf. Her head was back, tongue stuck out and clamped between her teeth in concentration. Her long, dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail that flowed down her back in perfect waves. When finally she got her book, she fell back on her heels, triumph riding high on her cheeks and stretching a smile along her full lips. And not for the first time, he thought she was pretty. But they always were; the cold-hearted, life-sucking, power-hungry few who ran too much of the school, the town.

Shaking his head, he looked away, taking a deep breath before telling himself that maybe it was all a nightmare. Maybe Finn would continue being the popular jock and Noah could have his club back, to finish out the last few years of his high school years, get into a good school, and rocket his way up to fame and fortune. It brought a smile to his face, faint but present. And he lifted his chin before trudging forward to class, to his bright future, careless of who might be out to drag him down.

** …**

It wasn't a nightmare.

Finn was in glee again and this time he was singing.

Now, maybe Noah was a little high on his own talent, but it was a small comfort that while Finn had chops, he wasn't nearly as good as him.

He glanced over at Hummel, whose hand had fluttered to his chest. Despite bugging the kid that he had a squeaky voice, he was a kick ass soprano, which thankfully didn't get in the way of, but more or less complimented, his baritone. So he could admit that Kurt was a great singer, mostly because they probably wouldn't be fighting for the same songs. But Finn was a baritenor, which meant he might actually have a shot at challenging Noah for songs. Unless of course he wasn't as good as him, and from where Noah was sitting, he _wasn't_. Maybe Kurt was focusing on Hudson's boy-next-door good looks instead of his voice, but it didn't change anything.

While Noah didn't want him in the club, he was at least a little comforted that if he stayed, he wouldn't be much competition.

In the grand scheme, however, he thought that was really only a small comfort.

** …**

Rachel was fairly sure she was spending entirely too much time in the general vicinity of the choir room, not a place she ever wanted to be associated with. But she was doing recon at the moment. While she didn't make it her business to know when the Glee club met up (she preferred to pretend it didn't even exist actually, but with Finn's current dilemma and Coach Sylvester on a constant tear about it, it was hard to miss), she had recently become acquainted with which days they got together and how long they practiced for.

As she approached the room, she listened hard for the familiar voice of the quarterback. While she couldn't say she spent much time in his company, though the cheerleaders and the football team did tend to spend lunches together, co-mingling as it were. But since he was Quinn's boyfriend of the last four months, it only made sense that she recognized him more than just about any other footballer.

The voices she heard, aside from Noah's, were mostly unfamiliar. Not surprising since they would all be low on the food chain, making any opportunity to talk to or know them just about nil. Rachel was pondering her choices of whether she could simply walk by the door and get a good look inside to find out if he was indeed there or if she should fake needing help from Mr. Shuester and simply walk right into the room.

But before she could put anything into action, she heard Noah's voice raise up.

"All right, fine, so Hudson can sing… He was a little flat and he should really work on that constipated face he makes, but he's all right."

"Uh… Thanks?" Finn replied uncertainly.

"Whatever. What I want to talk about is the set list…"

"Noah, we've been over this…" Mr. Shuester sighed.

"Yeah, and it's crap."

Rachel didn't hang around to listen to any more. She got the information she wanted. Finn was still in Glee club and _that _was a problem!

** …**

She spent her whole night thinking it over, weighing her options. The truth of the matter was that her first two options seemed less and less likely and now she had to add a third. If Finn was going to ruin his reputation, she would simply have to disconnect herself and Quinn from that sinking ship. It wasn't something she was proud of, but she had to make the decision that would benefit them most. Of course, Quinn wouldn't _want _to break up with Finn, but Rachel was sure when she laid it all out for her, that she would change her mind.

Still, as morning dawned, she had her doubts, and in the end, Rachel sent Quinn an emergency text to meet her in the girl's washroom. When she walked through the swinging door, she was quick to usher the other girls out, including one who appeared to be on the verge of losing control of her bladder.

"There's another bathroom around the corner," she said sternly, pointing at the door.

Quinn was walking in the same moment the girl scampered off. Brows raised, she watched her go over her shoulder before walking into the room. "Well, you still have it."

Arms crossed over her chest, she wondered, "Have what?"

"You're terrifying, Rachel," she said, simply, even boredly, before making her way to one of the sinks. She dropped her bag on top and opened it, drawing out her make-up.

Rachel began pacing, something she did often when she was worried. When she didn't get the desired response, of Quinn immediately asking her what was wrong and how to help, she spun to face the blonde cheerleader, who was busy stroking mascara over her long lashes.

"I thought we agreed there were only two options here," she reminded, her voice edged with panic. Despite having already come up with a third, she did want to know if Quinn had made progress or had ideas herself of how this might be resolved.

"We did." She lifted a shoulder. "So I made it easy. He quits glee and he gets to touch my breasts."

"Does he have to pray before or after?" she wondered.

Quinn paused to frown at her through the mirror.

Rachel held her hands up apologetically. "Sorry. Curiosity never did me any favors."

Shaking her head slightly, she returned to doing her make-up. "Anyway, I don't think we'll be having a problem there anymore."

"He was in Glee _yesterday_," she reminded, lips pursed.

"And I talked to him _last night_," she replied, putting her mascara away and unscrewing her lip gloss.

Sighing with relief, Rachel nodded. "Good." She beamed. "_Great_! So he's quit then?"

"It's inevitable," she said, simply, lifting a shoulder.

"Wonderful." Grabbing up her bag, she reached up to tighten her ponytail and then waved. "Good job, Quinn." She waved her hand at her. "I have to say, I wasn't looking forward to destroying Finn, so I'm much happier everything went in this direction."

Quinn paused. "Would you have?"

Rachel raised a brow.

"Destroyed him." She turned slightly to look at her. "Even though you knew he meant so much to me."

She pressed her lips into a line before saying honestly. "I came to you first _because _I know he matters to you." She stared at her searchingly. "But we both know what it means to be popular…" She raised her brows, eyes wide and sincere as she told her, "We're apart of something _special _here, Quinn… But we both know that it won't last long and it can be taken away easily." She sighed. "Do I _want _Finn to be subjected to the same terribly fate as the rest of those losers…" She shook her head. "Of course not." She took a step toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "But to remain at the top, we have to do everything in our power to remain flawless. And I'm afraid if Finn were a liability, a chink in your armor… then you would fall just as quickly with him."

"And you would let me?" Her eyes narrowed. "Just like that?"

"Ask yourself what you would do if it were me…" She stared at her long and hard, "And I think you'll have your answer."

Slowly, Quinn's eyes dropped and she raised her chin.

With nothing left to say, Rachel turned and left. But she had a feeling that the conversation meant a very big change for the both of them.

** …**

Glee club, usually a source of comfort after a long day of being treated like shit, was frustrating the hell out of him.

"Am I the only one who thinks he's going to seriously hurt someone?" Noah wondered, watching as Finn flailed his arms around and tripped over his feet.

"The choreography needs some work," Artie agreed. "I don't know about you guys, but footwork's a little out of the question for me."

"We'll work on it," he told the wheel-chair bound boy. "I mean, swaying'll keep Frankenteen from damaging people, but we won't go far on just that."

"You really think we're going to qualify for Sectionals?" Artie raised a brow at him. "Hey, I'm all for miracles." He raised a hand. "Preach, baby." He shook his head. "But this is one down-on-their-luck crowd that I'm not seeing a whole lot of promise in."

"We're good," he argued. "Just… rough."

"And too small, too argumentative, and lacking in teamwork, trust, or…" His eyes followed Finn's gruesome dancing, "in some areas, _talent_."

"I need this club." He stared down at Artie seriously. "And so do you, Spokes. So we'll figure something out, all right? Have faith." Clapping his shoulder, he walked back out on the stage and made a cutting noise at Shue, who was manning the stereo and wincing every time Finn moved.

"As soon as Epilepsy here is done having his fit, can we get down to business? I get that we're small and you're still trying to figure out what genre we fit in, but Journey's done, Mr. Shue. Let's move on and find something we can all semi-agree on…"

"Preferably something I don't have to _sway _to," Artie piped up.

"Yeah." Noah pointed at him. "Or maybe something Jock-Itch _can _sway to."

Finn glared at him.

"All right, all right… I'm open for suggestions," Mr. Shue said.

All at once, everybody seemed to be yelling out what they thought was a good song choice, _for themselves_.

Artie and Noah exchanged a frustrated eye-roll.

** …**

Muscles aching from Coach Sylvester's grueling practice, Rachel walked gingerly into her house, closing the door and locking it behind her before toeing off her white sneakers at the closet.

"I'm hooome," she sing-sang to the house. But as was far too customary, Rachel heard no reply. She hadn't seen her dads' car in the drive, but for some reason she still hoped she might find one or both of them home.

As she walked into the kitchen, she grabbed up the cordless and dialed their voicemail, where one new message was waiting.

"_Rachel, it's your father_."

She rolled her eyes. _Duh_. As if she didn't know his voice by now.

"_I'm sorry, Bunny, but we've got too much work here at the office. We won't be in until 9. Leftovers are in the freezer if you just want to warm them up. If not, there's money in the emergency jar, order whatever you like. Be sure to do your homework and get a good rest. The game's next week and you know your dad and I expect to see you in top form on that pyramid! Love and hugs, darling! Ta!"_

Blowing out a sigh, she hit the delete button before dropping the phone back on its platform and walking over to the fridge. She couldn't say she was _surprised_ when she felt the familiar prick of tears at her eyes, but she did feel irritated. Swiping at them quickly, she bit her lip, focusing on the pain there instead of what was aching in her heart.

Her daddies were busy. They owned their own company, but that didn't mean they didn't have a lot of work to do! And they loved her, they _wanted _to be there with her, but priorities were important. That's what she was raised to remember. Everything came at a cost and in the end, for them, it was almost always _time_. All they asked of her was that she repeat the same smart actions. Good grades meant college which meant a higher paying job. Though she couldn't, for the life of her, remember either of them ever mentioning anything out of State or heck, even outside of Lima. Even Ohio State University had a regional campus in Lima. Did they expect so little of her while simultaneously expecting the very best?

She grabbed out two bottles of water before slamming the fridge door shut and hurrying upstairs to her bedroom. She drank both as she paced her bedroom floor, wiggling her toes in the plush white carpet.

"You're popular, you're admired, you're powerful," she told herself. "You're popular, you're admired, you're powerful!" She repeated it, over and over, until her eyes didn't burn.

Finally, exhausted, she sat back on her bed and stared at the wall full of her achievements. Trophies and medals for cheerleading, for volleyball and track when she was in middle school, for honor roll and volunteering in her community. She stared at the smile gracing her face in each picture she had of accepting her rewards, overly wide and forced. With her teammates, with Quinn and the Cheerios, at her side. And there was Brittany and Santana, their pinkies linked. There was Sasha and Noelle, hugging. Josie, Kelsey and Brianne were waving peace signs, their tongues out. And there was just Rachel, close but not overly friendly with Quinn Fabray standing tall and proud at her side.

Was this what her life would be? A lonely wall of empty achievements and a machine full of apologies from her fathers?

She closed her eyes tight and drew a deep breath.

"I'm popular. I'm admired. I'm _powerful_." She squeezed her hands into two tight fists before finally standing and walking straight into her en suite bathroom. She would take a bath, full of bubbles and the room lit with incense; she would play soft jazz music and pamper herself. And after, wrapped in a fluffy robe, she would call away for dinner and enjoy it alone, in her kitchen, the stainless steel appliances untouched, the flawless marble floors unscuffed, the matching and expensive chairs all empty.

And she wouldn't cry, wouldn't wait for the tell-tale headlights flashing over the walls. She would go about her life as she always had; a girl with everybody she knew vying to be just like her, to have what she had, wanting for nothing but real acceptance.

**[To be continued**: Part Two.**]**


	2. Part II

**Title**: This Ain't A Romeo And Juliet Thing  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Drama/Romance/Humor  
**Ship**: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Quinn  
**Rating**: Teen  
**For**: Puckleberry Week on Tumblr – Day 4 – Genderswap/_Role Reversal_  
**Word Count**: 7,992  
**Summary**: Noah Puckerman has one goal in life; to become a famous singer. Rachel has one too; to make his high school life a living hell. But when quarterback Finn Hudson is forced to join Glee, they have to team up to keep him from toppling the school hierarchy, and more importantly to Noah, taking his spotlight. It isn't long before close quarters breeds an unexpected friendship that might just do more for and against them than Finn's love of song ever could.

**_This Ain't A Romeo and Juliet Thing_**  
-Novel-

**II.**

"You want us to check out the competition?" Noah looked around at everyone and then back at Mr. Shue. "Like _spying?"_

"No!" He shook his head. "It's all just good, clean fun. They'll be performing at their school, for a _crowd_, and we happen to be dropping by to see them. It'll be great! We might even learn a few things."

"Who's singing?" Mercedes wondered.

"Vocal Adrenaline."

Noah frowned. "Wait, I know them… They were Regional champs last year!" He looked around at the small group. "They _decimated _the competition."

"Hey, no getting down on yourselves. They've had years to get it together and even then, I'm _sure _that they don't have half as much talent as you guys do."

"Tell that to their trophy case," he muttered.

Sitting forward in his chair, Finn looked over at him. "Dude, lighten up."

He glared back. "_Dude_, go fu—"

"_Noah!_" Shue interrupted, his eyes wide.

He snorted, arms crossed over his chest as he sunk down in his chair, irritated. "Whatever."

"Look, I think this could be good for us…" Mr. Shue looked around at all of them, smiling. "A bonding experience, at least."

"I'm down," Mercedes said, shrugging.

"S-Same. Could be f-f-fun," Tina offered, smiling at Artie.

Artie nodded. "Yeah, couldn't hurt, right?"

Kurt skimmed his fingers over his carefully manicured hair. "Fine."

"No school? I'm in," Finn agreed.

They all turned to look at Noah then. "Hey, your guys' death-wish."

"And on that cheery note," Shue said, grinning as he stood from his stool. " school. I'll arrange it with our chaperone, Miss. Pillsbury."

With that, Glee club was called to an end. Puck grabbed up his stuff and started for the door.

"Uh, hey…"

He turned to see Finn jogging after him. "Yeah…?" he asked warily.

"Could we, uh… talk?"

"You got until I get to my truck," he said simply, walking into the hallway.

"Oh, sure, that's…" He reached up and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Listen, so I get that you don't, uh, like me or whatever and that's… Y'know, whatever. But…" He shook his head. "Being here, with you guys, doing this kinda thing, it's hard enough, y'know? So… Did I like, _do _something to you, or—?"

He snorted. "You mean like throw pee balloons at my house…?" He shook his head. "Or, I dunno, off the top of my head, throw slushees, write shit on my locker, generally make my life a living hell since middle school?" He raised a brow. "Nah, man, you're golden." He clapped a hand against Finn's shoulder, hard enough that he was jarred forward.

They stepped out into the parking lot with a wide-faced Finn, mouth ajar, eyes darting as he silently searched for something to say.

"Look, you wanna play this nice guy routine, never did anything wrong, just lucky enough to be the quarterback and loved by all, you do that." Noah pointed at him, eyes wide. "And I'm gonna keep doing what I've always done. Singing until I get my ass out of this shithole and never have to lay eyes on you and your merry little band of assholes again." He clucked his tongue. "Nice chattin' with ya, _dude_." He winked mockingly. "Adios."

With that, he broke off from the jock and walked to his truck, dropping his things in the bed before hopping in the driver's seat. As he pulled away, Finn was making his way back toward the school.

He didn't know if it was the slumped shoulders or what, but for just a split-second, he almost felt bad for throwing all that shit in his face. Then, remembering that first day he'd been slusheed, he got over it.

** …**

Rachel was _exhausted_. She wasn't sure they'd ever had a practice quite that hard; not at cheerleading camp, not in middle school, and not even under Coach Sylvester's usual insane teaching.

As she changed out of her cheerleading outfit, surrounded by her Cheerios, _everything _hurt. Lifting her arms, dragging the skirt down her hips, toeing off her socks, even _breathing_ derived an ache. The hot shower she took did little to help either; she imagined after all these years, all these practices, she should be used to it. But as she traded her towel in for her yoga pants and a zip-up sweater, she still winced as her muscles stretched and burned.

"That woman… should be institutionalized," Quinn told her, shaking her head as she sat down on a bench to pull on her flats. "_Seriously_."

"I can't feel anything below my neck," Santana complained, eyes closed as she leaned back against her locker. "Britt, poke me, I think I'm paralyzed."

Brittany reached out and poked Santana in the boob, drawing a snort from Rachel and Quinn.

"Brittany!" Santana swiped her hand away.

"You _moved!_" she cheered happily. "You're not paralyzed!" As if it was a real concern, the blonde girl wrapped her arms around Santana in a hug. And despite her usual dismissive attitude to just about everyone and everything, Santana patted the girl's back and accepted her embrace, rolling her eyes all the same.

"Well, I'm glad the week's over." Quinn stood, drawing her bag up over her shoulder. "I mean, I know she wants us back here tomorrow, but I think I've suddenly come down with food poisoning…" She pressed a hand to her stomach and feigned a sick look.

Rachel half-smiled. "The last time you tried that, she went to your house with a megaphone and complained for an hour about everything she'd had in her life that was worse than anything you might be feeling," she reminded.

"I know." She grinned, hooking her arm with Rachel's. "Which is why…" She raised a devious brow, "I'll be at _your_ place, safe from her terror-tactics."

"Movie night?" Santana asked hopefully, letting an actual grin shine through. "Shotty the good chair!"

"Can I bring Lord Tubbington?"Brittany hoped. "He cries when I leave him at home and, seriously you guys… I think he's started smoking." She looked between them, nodding at their confused faces. "I'm really worried."

Rachel looked around at each of them and finally sighed. "Fine. My dads are probably busy anyway, so sure, movie night it is."

"Yeah, and Coach isn't going to be suspicious at all when four of her best call in sick," Santana scoffed.

"We ate together," Rachel said simply, shrugging her shoulder as she grabbed her bag and closed her locker. "And look on the bright side, I changed my home address on her records so if she comes looking for us, Jacob Ben-Israel is going to have one _angry _Coach Sylvester on his lawn."

Laughing, the four girls left the locker room, arms linked.

And despite everything going on in her life and her lingering fears over Finn and the Glee club, Rachel could honestly say she was looking forward to spending some real girl time with her three favorite Cheerios. Maybe they wouldn't be eager to join her should she fall off the top of McKinley's social ladder, but for the moment, at least, they were as close to real friends as she had.

** …**

They were screwed.

He couldn't believe he wasted his Saturday on this.

If it was a vague fear before, now it was full blown. Vocal Adrenaline was going to eat them for breakfast!

For a split-second, and yeah okay, maybe it was kind of douchey of him, Noah wondered if it was too late in the year to transfer to Carmel… And somehow convince his ma to move to Akron.

Seriously though, their group was kick ass and he looked them up before they headed out; he was pretty sure that singing with them would guarantee him a musical scholarship to whatever performing arts school he wanted.

Reality reminded him that A. his ma couldn't afford a school that probably had fees mirroring their mortgage and B. as much good as he'd heard about them, there was just as much bad. Like, crazy practice schedules (from 2:30pm to midnight), some of the dancers might be on growth hormones (scratch that, they were _definitely_ on something), IV drips for major competitions and sunblock to keep the spotlights from burning (the fuck!).

Now, Noah wanted fame and fortune; he wanted his name on a platinum record and an armful of Grammy's to call his own. But there was something about VA that told him it wasn't the place for him.

Still, in the end, he took one look at them, listened to their harmonies come together flawlessly, and muttered, "Fuck."

Artie looked past Tina to him and shook his head solemnly.

They were _screwed_.

…

"This was fun," Quinn's voice reached out.

Rachel turned her head to see her, eyes narrowed against the darkness that filled the living room she and the other girls were camping out in.

Brittany and Santana had long fallen asleep and Rachel chose not to ponder much on the way they cuddled.

Quinn faced her, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hair was left in loose blonde waves and somehow it made her face seem younger, softer, than the tight, drawn ponytail she had to keep it in during the week. She looked her age, really. A beautiful sixteen year old girl with flawless porcelain skin.

"It was," she agreed, readjusting herself to lay on her side and tucking her dark hair behind her.

"We don't do this enough." Quinn glanced down and away, her brow ticking slightly. "Feels like forever."

Rachel's brows furrowed. "I didn't know you wanted to."

"At this point, anything to get out of my house is a relief…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "I know I've been spending a lot of time with Finn and Cheerio's fills up a lot of our free time, but…" She shrugged. "We should make more time for this, right?"

She wasn't sure why, but her heart ached at that. Maybe Quinn too hungered for real friendship; maybe there was still a chance they could find it in each other again. And who knew, with the possible end of their reign imminent should Finn not quit Glee, they might only have each other to lean on… It was that dour thought and Quinn's reaching out that sealed it for her, though. They would _not _go down! Perhaps she and Quinn _could _repair their broken friendship, but it wouldn't be because they were losers forced to find comfort in one another. No. They would remain at the top _and _they would be real, true friends. She would make sure of it.

"We will," she promised.

Quinn grinned at her. "Good." She reached across and squeezed Rachel's fingers. "I'll make pancakes tomorrow, okay?"

Rachel chuckled softly, beaming at her as she wondered hopefully, "With banana smiles and strawberry eyes?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes lightly. "Of course!"

"I brought chocolate chips," Brittany added sleepily.

Santana raised her head from where it had been perched on Brittany's chest and blinked away sleep. "_Why?_"

"I eat a bag a day," she said, her eyes moving between them. "I brought an extra in case you guys wanted some."

Together, Santana, Quinn and Rachel laughed at the antics of their kind-hearted but often very unusual teammate.

"Chocolate chip pancakes it is, Britt," Santana finally sighed, before resting her cheek back on Brittany's chest.

With that, they all settled back to get some sleep and Rachel smiled as she rested her head on her pillow, listening to the familiar snores of the others. It was nice, she thought, to have a full house for a change.

**…**

Despite what they'd seen and how very obvious it was that they were going to lose and lose _bad, _Mr. Shue called an emergency practice that Sunday and had the Glee club all come in.

"Look, I know we don't want to admit it, but Vocal Adrenaline was good," Noah said, sitting back in his chair.

"Off the chain," Artie agreed.

"I know. And… yes, it was a little… _shocking _to see. But that doesn't mean we can't beat them!" Mr. Shue assured.

Finn nodded. "Yeah, Coach Tanaka always tells us that the biggest guys always fall the hardest."

"Thank you, Finn," he said, grinning at him agreeably. "He's right. Vocal Adrenaline's biggest problem will be their egos."

"You think because they're _so _good, they won't be expecting us to be better?" Noah asked skeptically.

Shue pointed his marker at him as he walked to the white board. "Exactly!"

"Great! So we're finally going to discuss the set-list then?"

"Mm, no. Look, I know you guys don't like the music I've picked, but I really think if you just gave it a try…"

Finn shrugged. "I like Journey, Mr. Shue."

Noah wasn't sure if he was trying to or not, but he felt like Finn was kissing some serious ass. And worse, Mr. Shue actually seemed to like it. Now maybe Noah _knew _he was more talented than Finn, but judging by the adoring looks he kept getting from Kurt and the approval Shue was sending his way, he was really starting to worry that his place as captain and lead male vocals might actually be in jeopardy. And yeah, maybe Finn wasn't headed for fame, so he wouldn't be getting in the way of Noah's future, but just getting in the way now could mean an issue later. He was supposed to be the best and the reason he had Ryerson fired was because he wanted Glee club to have a real chance this year. If they had Hudson at the helm, agreeing with every shit call Shue made, that was pretty much shot.

Grinding his teeth, Noah knew what he'd thought from the beginning was going to have to happen.

Finn Hudson needed to get the hell out of his Glee club. And he was pretty sure he knew how to do it, too.

**…**

Despite a lovely weekend with the girls, Rachel returned to school agitated. Maybe it was the fact that Coach Sylvester had severely scolded her that morning, so close in her face that her raging spittle actually landed in Rachel's unfortunate eye. Or maybe it was the fact that she'd heard the Glee club had taken a road trip over the weekend, and somebody could've sworn Finn Hudson was with them…

The locker slammed shut so quickly it nearly caught Finn's fingers.

"Holy sh— _Rachel!_" Finn stared wide-eyed at the petite Cheerios captain. "Uh, h-hey!" He waved awkwardly.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear," she said, brows sitting heavy over her eyes. "You had two options, Finn… _Two_." She waved as many fingers at him. "_I _gave you two options and _Quinn _reminded you the rewards of one." She raised a brow. "Now, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I can't _be _any clearer on this…" Her eyes darted around before she said in a whisper that sounded quite loud to Finn's ears, "You _cannot _be in Glee club."

"I—I know." He nodded. "And I _tried _to quit, but… They _really _need people and Mr. Shue keeps bringing up the pot he found and I just, I've got his voice on repeat in my head, saying he expects more of me. And then that Noah kid said something last Friday and it was just like, _wow_, y'know? Like I'm kind of a _jerk_ and I just… I feel _bad _that I'm leaving them hanging and—"

Rachel made a zip-it motion with her hand and he found himself shutting up immediately.

"I understand," she said.

He brightened hopefully. "You do?"

"Of course." She smiled, although he found himself thinking it was less friendly and more on the scary side of things. "It's easy to be manipulated by the frailty and misfortune of others… You want to help and that's… _admirable_."

Finn nodded, grinning, feeling good that she could see he was just trying to be a better person.

"Unfortunately, helping means that _you _are frail and with that comes a whole lot of misfortune." She tipped her head, her ponytail slipping over her shoulder. "Now… I've already spoken to Quinn and she _assured _me that you were aware of the rewards of leaving Glee."

Remembering his girlfriend's promise that he could touch her chest made Finn's smile lengthen. After four months and a whole lot of forced praying whenever his hands wandered her curves, he was looking forward to that reward.

"Now I'm here to remind you of the _consequences _of _not _quitting."

His face fell. "Consequences?"

"Yes, Finn." She stared up at him from beneath her long lashes and he was reminded that Rachel was really pretty, but she was a hell of a lot more terrifying. "You see, if it has escaped your attention, the people in Glee club are met with a less than pleasant daily reminder of their place here…" She snapped her fingers and a boy hurried forward, a second-stringer on the football team. In his hand was a cherry slushee. She took it from him before waving to dismiss him. Staring at Finn, she twisted and turned the straw. "Have you ever _been _slusheed, Finn?"

He gulped before shaking his head.

"They're tasty drinks," she told him, taking the straw between her full, pouty lips. Her teeth bit down hard into the plastic as her mouth curled in a snarl. "But not very forgiving as a facial." Taking a step toward him, smiling as he flinched, she stuffed the slushee against his chest, where his hand rose up to take the cold plastic cup before it toppled. "That would just be the beginning, Finn. A daily reminder…" She stared up at him searchingly. "Think of all the things the rest of the football team does to those kids you see in that club…"

Eyes turned off to the side, his mind wandered to what Noah had said the day before, about what he'd suffered under Finn's supposed hands; slushees, pee balloons, writing on his locker, being bullied on a general basis.

"…and then multiply that by _ten_." Rachel raised a brow. "_Traitors_ get far worse." She tapped the cup. "I don't want to see that happen to you, Finn."

He wanted to remind her that she could stop it. That there was nobody in the school more powerful than her. But somehow he thought it would not only fall on deaf ears but that maybe power really was fleeting. His own seemed to be in transition and all he'd done was try to be better.

"Okay," he said, almost too soft to hear.

She nodded at him, and with that, she was gone.

Finn dropped the slushee in the garbage can, unable to look at it, and spent the rest of his day questioning his integrity.

** …**

"Off to scare blind children next, Princess?"

Rachel paused, turning her head to see Noah Puckerman smirking at her, brow raised.

Were it any other person, any other day, she might've ignored him. But with her current dilemma and the oddly smug look on Noah's face, she really couldn't help herself.

"You're one to talk." She pivoted to face him, hands on her hips. "My conversation with Finn brought up an interesting little chat he had with_ you_… Looks like I'm not the only one hurting feelings around here."

He glanced away, looking almost, _almost_, sorry for what he might've done, before pushing off his locker and walking toward her.

She would never admit it out loud, but Noah was entirely too handsome for someone as unpopular as he was. Tall, with a sculpted face, tanned skin, wide shoulders and a toned frame that she was surprised he didn't put to better use. Why waste time on singing and dancing when he could've been on the, admittedly failing, football team? At the very least, it would've saved him a large dry-cleaning bill, as jocks were off limits from slushees. But he just _had_ to be different; even from elementary school when he used to bring his guitar to class for show n' tell, or wrote songs in the margins of all his notebooks instead of cartoon characters and limericks like the other boys, or when he willingly volunteered to sing and play at all of the JCC get-togethers for _exposure_ while every other kid his age wanted nothing more than to play and horse-around. He was enigma. Unique.

He had a swagger as he moved, a confidence that she was constantly surprised hadn't been smothered by the town and school that never showed him any favor. His chin was high, proud, and for a moment he looked down on her like _she _wasn't worth _his _time.

She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, but she still felt as empowered as ever. McKinley was _her _school and nobody, especially not a musically-inclined geek, was going to make her feel small.

"I think we've got a similar agenda here, Berry…" He stared at her. "You want Hudson out of Glee club and so do I…"

She pursed her lips. "Are you suggesting what I _think _you're suggesting?" Her eyes narrowed. "Because I've just finished reminding Finn of the pitfalls of your little club and I was _very _persuasive."

"Yeah, and I get that you're not used to being defied and all… But I'm pretty sure Shue's got dirt on Tall, White and Dopey… So you're going to need bigger guns if you want him to keep playing Prince Charming to your second in command."

"And what makes you think _that?_" she scoffed.

"Look, the guy obviously doesn't want to be there, he's said so a few times, and Shue's seriously obsessed with bringing Glee club back to its former glory…" He shrugged. "Two and two, right?"

Her eyes moved away, remembering the two times that Finn mentioned pot and Mr. Shuester. Her nostrils flared as she huffed. "Drugs," she muttered. "_Of course_."

Noah raised a brow at her.

"Your little Spanish teacher _is_ blackmailing him… As if _Finn _would bring pot to school." She wrinkled her nose. "He's not the brightest, but _honestly_…"

He shrugged. "So what're you suggesting?"

She smirked. "Now Noah, what ever makes you think I'd align with you?" Her eyes wandered to his defined arms. "_Guns_, you might have… But what _else _do you plan to bring to the table?"

"Listen, you wanna play games, fine… But I want your little pet out of my club." He frowned. "You might not take getting out of here seriously and you can make fun of me and my dreams all the hell you want… But I'm going somewhere." He stared at her searchingly. "And I'm not letting that lumbering crash dummy bring me down."

Rachel blew out a long breath, and felt that familiar burn of irritation rise up inside her. _I'm going somewhere_, repeated in her head. For a moment, she wondered if maybe her daddy was right. Maybe it _was_ jealousy. That this boy, this supposed _loser_, could achieve much more than her in the long run.

She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her fingers along her arm, and stared at him. Though it pained her to say, she gritted out, "Deal."

His brows furrowed.

"We get Finn out of your club and we do it together." She nodded. "Behind the scenes, of course." She cast her eyes around the hall, seeing a few students looking on curiously.

His lip curled, reminding her that he likely wanted just as little to do with her as she did him. "Of course."

"My house," she decided. "You know where it is?"

"On the right side of the tracks," he quipped.

She sighed, drew out her iPhone, and said simply, "Your number."

He frowned but rattled it off for her. "There. I texted it to you. Keep an eye out for the mailbox marked Berry."

He snapped his heels together and saluted her.

Rolling her eyes at his behavior, she told him, "Strategy meeting, tonight, 8 o'clock sharp."

"I'm there."

She nodded. Leaving it at that, having no more to say really, she walked away, her skirt swishing at her thighs.

Quinn pushed off of a locker and met her just a few feet away, her brows furrowed. "What was that about?"

"Science project," Rachel lied simply, casting a look back at the boy staring after her with a brooding frown. "We're partners."

"You say so," she said dismissively. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Finn… I know you're probably upset about him going away with the… _club _this weekend. I should've told you, but—"

Rachel stopped suddenly and turned toward her, smiling. "Trust me, Q… Finn won't be in Glee long."

Quinn stared at her. "I'd like to. But…" She lifted a shoulder. "Would you trust me if our roles were reversed?"

And just like that, Rachel was reminded that she and Quinn were _not _the best friends they once were, but partners in something much bigger and much less stable. Genuine smile fading, it was replaced with a brittle one. "Good point," she decided. Turning on her heel, she walked away from her. "Very good point."

** …**

Finn was playing with the make-up on her dresser, reading labels, opening caps, sniffing some things and giving a long, confused look to others. "What d'you need all this stuff for anyway?"

Quinn chuckled from where she sat on the edge of her bed, homework spread out around her. "What do you _think?_"

He shrugged, looking at her through the mirror. "I think you're beautiful… Just how you are."

Her expression softened and not for the first time, Quinn was reminded of why she was trying _so hard _to keep this boy in her life. No, it wasn't because he complimented her or encouraged her ego. It was because Finn, although not always the _smartest _boy, was a genuinely sweet person. It was moments like these, where there was nobody to overhear, nobody to judge, where she could be herself. She could let down her walls a little and just _be_. And Finn accepted her, like she wasn't sure anybody ever could.

"Come here," she told him.

He raised a brow, but stood from the small bench and walked over.

She shoved her books out of the way and he took a seat next to her, the bed jarring slightly at his added weight. She smiled at him, soft and sweet. "_Hey_."

He grinned, head ducking slightly. "Hey."

Reaching for him, she dragged her fingers through his dark hair and traced the shell of his ear. "Things've been kind of hectic lately…"

He nodded, his eyes falling. "I know. And I'm sorry, about Glee and everything… I know it's stressing you out and I don't want it to. I just…" He sighed. "I feel like I have to do this."

Quinn watched him, her eyes wandering over his face; the furrow of his brows, the firm, set line of his lips. "You think this will make you a better person?" she asked him.

"Yes. _No_. I… I don't know. I just…" His shoulders slumped. "D'you think I'm a bad guy?" He turned to look at her. "I never really thought about it, y'know? But… Maybe just because I'm cool, it doesn't mean I'm like… a good person." He shrugged. "Maybe people just like the Letterman's jacket."

"Well…" She tugged on the collar. "It does look good on you."

He half-smiled, but it faded quick. "I'm serious."

"I know." She nodded. "Finn, you're not a bad person."

He stared at her.

"I think sometimes we… _Both _of us, have followed the crowd because it's easier. Or… expected." Her brows hiked as her eyes fell to her lap. "And unfortunately it still is." She took his hand and squeezed, rubbing her thumb over length of his. "You have to make a choice…"

It was silent a long moment before he wondered, frowning, "Am I choosing between Glee and football...? Or Glee and _you_?"

She met his eyes and said with more determination than she'd ever felt, "I'll stand by you."

He squeezed her fingers, lips curving slightly, hopefully. "Even if it means we're not popular?"

She reached up, her hand fitting around the back of his neck, and drew his face down to hers. "Even if."

As their lips met, she sighed, and knew it was true.

She just wasn't sure how to tell Rachel.

…

Rachel knew how to prepare for company. Given her dads' business, she often hosted welcoming parties for clients, helping to show off the house and standing between her two dads as they praised her to everyone they met, heaping on the approval for everyone to hear. In some ways, those nights were even worse than the ones she spent alone in a giant, empty house. Because as much as she liked having her dads with their arms around her, all too eager to tote her many achievements, she was always reminded that it was only for those around them and not her. There was always something _more _she could be doing, something better. And the truth of it was, everything she did do only seemed to be because of her parents. Cheerleading, honor roll, volunteering, it was all in a bid to get their attention, their love. And in the end, she only got it when others were listening.

Tonight, she was not preparing for a party, but instead for, perhaps, the arrival of an enemy. Sure, she and Noah were meeting to talk strategy, but that didn't change the fact that they were opposites. She was at the top while he was at the bottom. And they were only coming together because it mutually benefited them. Otherwise, she couldn't imagine why she would ever have contact with him. There was nobody she had ever met in her life that made her more frustrated than him, and oftentimes she didn't know why. Now, with her more recent understanding of it, she hated even more what he represented. Rachel Berry was not a _jealous _person. How could she be when she seemed to have everything she could ever want? But there was Noah Puckerman, reminding her that he had more than her even with what little, and lacking, he had.

He would go on to do great things, to become someone worth adulation and praise, and she… _wouldn't_.

The fact that he would be in her house made her oddly nervous. She flitted about, cleaning up, rearranging things, even fluffing pillows. She wasn't sure why she wanted to make a good impression, maybe to prove to him that if anybody should be jealous, it was him. As she moved, vacuuming and tidying up, she sang. Nothing particularly interesting, just whatever was on the radio at the time. And she recognized the irony, of course, that she was singing as she waited to plan a way to _keep _someone from singing. But she disregarded it all the same.

_She_ wasn't planning on being in Glee club. The mere thought made her guffaw. There were expectations of her that she needed to keep in mind. And repercussions that came with not meeting them. While she might like to sing, even thought she had a rather appealing voice, neither she nor Finn had the luxury of tossing it all aside and letting that voice reach outside the safe walls of their homes.

So she sang a little louder, a little deeper, reminded that this really was the only place she could or ever would. And her jealousy of Noah and the freedom he had, in his life and his singing, burned deeper.

** …**

Noah didn't know what he was doing.

He'd showered, changed his clothes, and was in the midst of putting on cologne when he realized he was going to _Rachel Berry's _house. Why the hell was he trying to make a good impression?

He dropped the cologne to his dresser and traded in his best button-up shirt for a comfortable but worn t-shirt. Feeling less like he was trying to impress, he made his way downstairs. His ma was curled up in the armchair with a book, her reading glasses on and a lamp set close enough to highlight the pages without glaring into her eyes.

"You look handsome," she commented, dropping some trashy Harlequin to her chest, finger holding the page. "Where are you going?"

"Uh, out…" He stuffed his feet in his boots and grabbed his truck keys off the hook. "Science project, meeting up with my partner."

She stared at him a long second. "Without your books?"

His eyes darted away. "She's got all the stuff we need," he said.

"_She?_"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ma, my partner's a girl."

She hummed. "A _pretty _girl?"

He snorted. "Yeah, and she's Jewish." He waved a thumbs-up at her. "Get excited." He closed the door behind him before she could say anything more and was down the porch and toward his truck in no time.

It wasn't hard to find Rachel's house, it was in a good part of town that he ventured down rarely but the mailbox marked with her surname was hard to miss considering it was the only lawn that had one. He pulled into the driveway behind her red Prius and cut the engine while sending her a text that he was there.

He smirked when he noticed he was five minutes late and not _sharp _like she had wanted him.

The door swung open a moment later however and his smirk faded away.

Gone was the Cheerios outfit and in its place was a plain black mini skirt, just as, if not shorter than, the already tiny cheerleading skirt she wore every day at school. He'd seen her legs, admired them even as he scorned her, but for some reason this felt different. Hopping out of the truck, he walked up the path to where she stood leaning in the door, the light from the hallway spilling out around her, highlighting her small, curvy form.

He smiled slightly. "Does your sweater have a _dog _on it?"

Hair down, she had to part it to look down at herself, only to see the shape of a small white terrier emblazoned on her chest. Pursing her lips at him, she said defensively, "It's comfortable. And my nana happened to knit it for me." She stepped back, silently inviting him inside.

With a snort, he crossed the threshold into her house, wiping his shoes off as his eyes wandered around. Everything was clean, almost too much even. There was order to it all that made it look like a show house rather than a home.

"My dads are working late, so we won't have to worry about them intruding," she told him, closing the door before walking past him. "Are you hungry or thirsty? I just had dinner, but there are lots of leftovers."

He stared after her warily; this wasn't the girl he was used to seeing at school.

She was nice, polite, and she was wearing a damn animal sweater, and—fuzzy pink socks.

He stared at her small feet.

"Noah?"

His eyes rose up and met hers. "Uh, no. Nah, my ma already fed me. I'm good."

She nodded, before turning around and continuing forward. "Anything to drink then?" She walked into her kitchen and slid easily over the marble floor in her socks, coming to a stop with a fleeting smile and opening the fridge. "We have Gatorade, Redbull, water, soy milk—"

"Gatorade's good."

She took out two bottles and handed him one; he noticed they were both grape. "S' my favorite," he said.

"I know."

His brows furrowed.

"I… What I meant was, I just…" She tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. "I noticed that you licked your lips when I threw that grape slushee at you the other day and I guess I just… _assumed_."

His jaw ticked, eyes falling. "Things you learn when bullying people, I guess."

She stared up at him. "In any case…" She walked to the island where a vase of fresh tulips sat center, next to it a closed pink laptop; she hopped up to take a seat on the stool and used her feet to push out the one nearest her for him. She scooped up a yellow writing pad and said, tone full of authority, "I came up with a few ideas to get Finn to change his mind. One being that we blackmail your Glee coach into releasing Finn from any disciplinary action he might be holding over his head."

Noah snorted, taking the seat next to her. "You wanna blackmail a teacher?" He reached over and grabbed the notepad from her. "Please tell me that's not your number one idea."

She glared at him before yanking the pad back, lower lip jutted out irritably. "Of course not. It's our last resort." With one hand, she combed her fingers through her hair, now pulled over just one shoulder, and turned the paper toward him with the other. "Up to this point, I've been getting Quinn to talk sense into him. Today, I reminded him what would happen if he continued on with the club."

"He'd be just like us… A loser. Slusheed and bullied every day."

She paused, teeth biting into her lip. "Yes."

"And he went for it?"

She raised her eyes toward him. "Like you said, Mr. Shuester is probably blackmailing him, which means as much as I might be able to apply pressure, the lingering fear that whatever your teacher might have on him could be worse than the promise of being slusheed." She frowned. "And he might be operating under the hope that Quinn or I might save him."

"But you won't…?" He stared at her, whistling. "S' cold, Berry. Even for you."

Her eyes snapped toward him. "You presume to know me, _Puckerman_. But last I checked, other than throwing out a few scathing comments about my integrity, you have little to go on."

He felt his face heat up with anger. "I think the daily slushee facial you've given me is proof enough, Princess."

"_Stop _calling me that!" she exclaimed, glaring.

"No," he returned. And before he could give it much thought, years of being treated like crap came spilling out of his mouth. "You think you're so damn important. So in control of everything! You think you can push everybody around and never pay for any of it. Well newsflash, _Princess_, I'm not one of your little puppets. I don't sing to your tune or dance to your orders." He leaned into her, snarling his words so loudly that his breath was ruffling her hair. "I've got more talent in me than you've got empty power and when it comes down to it, you can throw your little tantrums and try to make me feel small, but when graduation comes, I'll be on my way to freedom and fame and you'll be stuck in this shit town with nothing but memories of grandeur and false idolism to warm your cold, dead heart."

Rachel stared at him a long second, her eyes wide, her chest heaving, and then, suddenly, something Noah never expected to see, a tear formed at the corner of one eye, caught on her lashes and then dribbled down her cheek.

And his fury and outrage, his righteous anger at her, ebbed.

He drew back, feeling nervous. "Hey…"

Her other eye filled and suddenly there were two and three lines of tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Hey, wait, I, uh… Look, stop, okay?" He panicked, hopping out of his chair and holding his hands up. "Why are you—? You're seriously crying right now?"

Shoulders shaking, Rachel closed her eyes. "You think I don't _know _that?" she breathed emotionally. Shaking her head, she said, "I know! I know that I'll have nothing but high school to reflect on and I'll be sad and lumpy and my children will hate me and they'll perpetuate the same cycle and I'll be just like my dads, who're never home, and my children will live under my constant shadow of desperation and unnecessary pressure to be perfect!" She dragged in deep, gulping breaths. "And I'll have to see your stupid, _stupid _face on my television as you sing at the Grammy's and make something of yourself and I'll be stuck here, in _Lima__!_"

Eyes wide, he looked around, not quite sure what to say.

She waved her hands at her face as if to dry her tear ducts, but it didn't help. "You have _no idea_ what it's like! To be looked up to and admired for something you're not even sure you are!" She stared up at him, eyes red and puffy. "I _need _Finn to quit the club because if he doesn't then he brings the rest of us down with him. If Quinn goes, so do I, because the only thing keeping me in power is _her!_ Together, we shine. But apart, we have too many flaws to keep the wolves from attacking." She shook her head. "And I know you don't care! I know you hate me! I'm not exactly _partial _to you either… But I _need _this, Noah. You have your whole damn life to be on top, and these are the only years I get!"

For the first time in his life, Noah Puckerman pitied Rachel Berry.

He'd thought it before, but most of the time it was a way of comforting himself after a bad day of being treated like shit by her or people like her. But now, seeing her in tears, desperate to cling to the little hope she had in her life, he really did feel sorry for her. These were her glory days and if she didn't change something in her life, didn't want for something more, then she really would turn out like all the others in this town. Middle-aged and reflecting on the few years they had it good.

"I don't care what the reason is," he finally said. "I don't care if you become prom queen or you ride your high horse the rest of our high school careers. I want Finn out and I want a promise that none of you or your friends touch my club." He clenched his jaw. "And no more slushees." He raised a brow at her. "I'm serious. You throw _one_, your friends get me in the hall, and I swear to you I'll devote every second that I'm not practicing to pulling your teetering pedestal out from under you."

She mopped her eyes quickly and all too soon, she looked like the strong, conniving girl he knew her to be. "Deal."

She held a hand out that, while hesitant, he took.

She had cute hands; small and soft.

When he took his seat again, everything went quiet, neither of them sure where to go from there. Their explosive tempers had left them feeling empty now. And he thought he might know more about than he ever wanted to.

Finally he said, "So these animal sweaters…?" He turned to look at her. "You only wear them at home?"

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "My nana, bless her heart, is under the unfortunate impression that I'm still eight."

He shrugged. "I dunno…" He pinched the shoulder of it. "S'kinda cute."

"It's very comfortable," she assured, raising her chin high.

With that, he brought her list of suggestions back around and they got focused on the goal.

Get Finn Hudson out of Glee club.

If he occasionally noticed that her hair smelled really good, that was just a passing, totally forgivable thought. No need to focus on it. So he didn't… _much_.

** …**

The following day, Rachel felt like her evening spent planning with Noah was all too obvious. As if any second, somebody was going to start asking questions about what he was doing at her house and what they were planning and why. But school went on as usual, with nobody seeming the wiser, so she went about her day like any other.

"You didn't answer my calls last night," Quinn said, leaning back against the locker next to hers.

"Oh. Sorry." She reached up and put her books away on the shelves. "I was just really busy… With homework and working on those routines Coach gave us… I think I've figured out a way to perfect that flip we're having trouble with."

Quinn stared at her a long moment, suspicion riding her narrowed eyes. Finally, she sighed, darting her eyes away. "Well I called you because we need to talk about Finn…"

"I know… You're worried." She shook her head. "But I'm working on it."

"That's a little of what has me worried," she admitted. "Rachel, I know you don't care what happens to Finn… He's not your friend or your boyfriend, but—"

"He matters to you." Rachel closed her locker and turned to her. "I know, Q. And like I said… I'm working on it."

Her eyes were caught momentarily when she noticed the familiar frame of Noah Puckerman down the hall. And when she caught side of Karofsky, laughing with Azimio, jiggling a slushee meaningfully, she sighed.

"I'll be right back," she told Quinn.

Not waiting for a reply, she crossed the hall.

Karofsky was just about to leave the bank of lockers to line himself up with Noah when Rachel's hand came down on his chest and not so subtly pressed him back.

"Berry," he said, staring at her in confusion. "What's up?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I need a… _favor_," she said, lips curling darkly at the corners.

His eyes roamed her from head to toe. "Yeah?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows before he exchanged a fist-bump with Azimio. "What's in it for me?"

Rachel readjusted his Letterman's jacket and patted the large M emblazoned on the left side. "Let's just say that I have a number of _secrets _that neither of you would like to get out…" She looked between them, her brows raised. "Now I'm not going to say what they are, but I want you to think of the _one _thing you wouldn't want anybody else in the school to know…" She let them think and watched as fear and embarrassment crossed their faces. "Right. Now what would you do to keep that from going public?"

Solemnly, they stared at her.

"Very good…" she drawled.

It was a bluff, of course. While she did have dirt on just about everyone at the school, she was sure there was nothing quite as bad as whatever they might have thought. But Rachel knew that neither of them would risk calling her on it just in case she really _did _know something. So using that to her advantage, she made it clear that they and their cronies were not to slushee Noah Puckerman again. It wasn't something she could explain to them and she reminded them that to ask why was to court her wrath. In the end, she received their promise that they wouldn't slushee him unless she gave the go-ahead. And with that, she sashayed back to a waiting Quinn.

She wasn't sure why, and she didn't want to give it much thought, but she felt good about holding up her end of the bargain. Noah went on about his day in the same clothes he arrived in, never having to replace them. And she stood proud as her power worked its way through the masses. It might just be the last big call she would make before she was demoted, but she felt oddly proud of it.

**[To be continued:** Part Three**.]**


	3. Part III

**Title**: This Ain't A Romeo And Juliet Thing  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Drama/Romance/Humor  
**Ship**: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Quinn  
**Rating**: Teen  
**For**: Puckleberry Week on Tumblr – Day 4 – Genderswap/_Role Reversal_  
**Word Count**: 8,385  
**Summary**: Noah Puckerman has one goal in life; to become a famous singer. Rachel has one too; to make his high school life a living hell. But when quarterback Finn Hudson is forced to join Glee, they have to team up to keep him from toppling the school hierarchy, and more importantly to Noah, taking his spotlight. It isn't long before close quarters breeds an unexpected friendship that might just do more for and against them than Finn's love of song ever could.

**_This Ain't A Romeo and Juliet Thing_**  
-Novel-

**III.**

Operation GFHOoGC was underway.

Since Glee club needed twelve members and currently only had five, not including Finn, both Noah and Rachel were scouting for possible members, hoping that if they got enough, Finn wouldn't be necessary. Of course, Rachel couldn't be heard toting the strengths of Glee club and so she was really only doing research on potential students before handing the information over to Noah to do the actual recruiting.

If she occasionally lingered in the locker rooms for 'shower singers' and took notes, just call her dedicated to her mission. She also might have occasionally paid entirely too much attention when people so much as hummed. But she felt it was important to at least find Noah somebody _capable _to replace Finn. She wasn't sure why it was necessary. She could probably scare a few nobodies into trying out for the Club, although she couldn't begin to imagine how she would explain her reasoning. In the end, she figured finding the people was enough; Noah would have to do the actual recruiting. And if absolutely necessary, then yes, she would get her hands even dirtier. But until they crossed that bridge, she was strictly on scouting duty.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, startling her.

Rachel frowned. "Shh!" She batted a hand at her as she tipped her head to hear better. "Do you hear that?"

"Yes…" she drawled, eyes narrowing in confusion. "So?"

"They can carry a tune." She pursed her lips. "I hadn't realized how few people could. I mean, honestly, it's almost worrisome how few people know how to sing."

Quinn frowned. "We live in _Lima_… It's not exactly an American Idol hotspot."

"Obviously," she scoffed. Her eyes scanned the hall. "Who was it, do you think? I couldn't pinpoint the exact direction it was coming from…" She frowned. "You don't think it was Lisa, do you?" she wondered, staring at the curvy red-head across the hall, checking herself out in her locker mirror. She wasn't a Cheerio but she _was _in with the football jocks… for reasons that had little to do with personality or talent and far more to do with the open door policy on her bedroom.

"Do I think Lisa Johnson was randomly whistling a tune?" She raised a brow. "Do I _care?_"

Rachel turned to look at her. "Will you just help me, please? I realize it's not in your usual repertoire, but—"

"Fine." Quinn waved a hand to shut her up. "But then can we focus on the English assignment I was _trying _to get your help on? You know Mrs. Kessler likes you better… You're wordy. Personally I find it irritating, but hey, she's an English teacher, maybe she has a higher threshold."

Her lips quirked with amusement. "Sure, we'll talk English after… Now who was whistling…?" She peered around curiously, tapping her chin.

Sighing, Quinn turned her attention to the hall as well.

But just before the bell rang, they came to the conclusion that the school custodian had a great whistle.

Rats!

…

"Don't you answer texts?"

Noah blinked, closing his locker slowly as he turned to look at the petite girl staring up at him demandingly, her hands on her hips. "Uh, sorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I think it would help if during the day I could simply text you the latest suggestion for a replacement, that way I don't have to write them all down in a book that could later be found and confused as something much more nefarious."

His brows furrowed. The hell kind of lists did she _make?_

She shrugged. "And besides, this way we can yay or nay them on the spot and I can either continue my search or call it to an end." She grinned up at him.

Momentarily, Noah was surprised that her genuine smile was actually really attractive. Like, usually she was smirking or she had a sarcastic grin that meant she was insulting someone, and that was a turn-off to the nth degree. But this… The excitement on her face was actually kind of… cute.

"Fine." He dug his phone out of his pocket to see what she'd texted him and his eyes widened. "The hell, Rachel! There's twenty-three freakin' texts on here!"

She pursed her lips defensively. "We had a substitute in math! Class was completely boring… I'm already ahead three chapters, so instead I spent my time going over my classmates and their potential singing capabilities. Not easy when all they did was whisper, pass notes, and occasionally pass gas or make fart jokes." She rolled her eyes. "In any case, half of those are suggestions from that class… Although I would avoid Jared Fenwick because he must have some kind of gastric problem… And being trapped in a classroom, not moving, was bad enough. Having him dance could actually toxically harm someone."

He thumbed through some of her texts and frowned. "There's one in here about somebody named Lisa Johnson and how she's a mega-tramp…"

Her eyes cut away from him. "I wasn't sure you were aware. It was a friendly warning."

"About _what?_" He shook his head. "STD's don't transfer during _singing_…"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm just saying her reputation would look poorly on the Glee club."

"The Glee club couldn't look much worse," he muttered, before tucking his phone away. "Look, I'll check out your suggestions later. Right now, I have to get to the choir room."

Her nose wrinkled. "At _lunch?_"

He shrugged. "I'm working on a song." Closing his locker, he hitched his bag up and grabbed his guitar from where it had been leaning next to him.

"Fine. After school today? A strategy meeting?" She stared up at him expectantly, her eyes wide and her brows hiked.

He turned his eyes up in thought and then shook his head. "I've got a vocal lesson and then I'm watching my kid sister."

Rachel frowned. "Tomorrow then? I'm running out of time here, Noah!"

He sighed. "I know. I'm not exactly looking forward to having Gigantor hanging around either…" He licked his lips as he thought. "Yeah, okay. Tomorrow night. 'Round… sixish?"

She nodded then, short and swift.

And before he could even say goodbye, she'd pivoted on her heel and walked off, her hips swaying and her ponytail swinging.

He wondered if she'd be wearing an animal sweater or fuzzy socks when he showed up. The idea made him half-smile as he turned to walk away. When he realized he was smiling about something related to Rachel Berry, he stamped it out… and then wondered if hell had frozen over.

…

Over the course of the next day and a half, Rachel sent him fifteen more texts with possible candidates; he'd nixed eight just after reading their names. History told him they would either never go for Glee or they'd destroy it just for the fun of it. He didn't want them anywhere _near _his club.

"You've been on that phone day and night," his mother mentioned.

Noah looked up from his breakfast. "Sorry," he said, shrugging.

She shook her head. "Who're you texting?" she wondered.

"Uh… science partner."

"You mean the pretty Jewish girl?" she said, lips pulling up at the corners.

He rolled his eyes, seriously regretting saying that. "Yeah," he grunted, quickly filling his mouth with food.

She let him, but he got the feeling the conversation wasn't over. And when his phone buzzed with another message and he saw the hope on his ma's face, he knew for sure she wasn't going to just let it go.

…

Sometimes when he saw her at school and she didn't so much as look at him, he wondered if he'd dreamt the whole thing up. She walked through the halls with her familiar red and white outfit on, long legs on display, shiny, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, chin raised, the picture perfect image of confidence and beauty. The looks other students tossed her ranged from jealousy to admiration. He wondered if it ever bugged her, that just as many people hated her as those who loved her. Hell, half the Cheerios squad looked like they wouldn't shed a tear if she fell off the top of the pyramid and never got up. But in the same breath, their eyes followed her with obvious envy; wanting to be her, be as popular as her, whichever.

Rachel hardly spared those around her a glance. Except for Santana Lopez, a crazy Latina girl who was quite possibly meaner than Rachel, Brittany Pierce, an absent minded blonde girl attached to Lopez's pinkie, and Quinn Fabray, Rachel's second in command, she hardly spent any time with anybody else. Even Hudson, who she was diligently trying to save the reputation of, hardly even got a nod from her. Although Rachel had made it pretty clear, to Noah at least, that the only reason she was helping Finn out was because he was directly tied to Quinn, and thus her.

Still, Noah had never noticed before, how lonely it looked at the top. Then again, he was at the bottom, and he didn't even have _one _person to call a friend, let alone _three_…

Shaking it off, he walked to his class wondering when he'd started picking apart Rachel's life so deeply when before he'd just been happy to hate her on principle alone. He didn't have an answer by the time he got to History but he figured it was fleeting. Maybe the rest of the school was obsessed with or idolized her, but no way was he hopping on that bandwagon.

…

Rachel's place had become the unofficial meeting grounds, seeing as this was the third time he'd dropped by and it always seemed to be empty besides herself. Noah arrived that night to a driveway filled with only her car and no sign that her dads were due home soon. He couldn't help thinking about what she'd said, "_I'll be just like my dads, who're never home…"_ Noah tried to remember an extended amount of time he was home and his sister or mother wasn't, but he couldn't. His ma worked crazy hours, yeah, but she also tried hard to be home every night, either for dinner or just to see them before bed, even if she had to return to work right after. But it seemed like every time he showed up at Rachel's house, her dads were nowhere to be seen, and for some reason that really bugged him.

Rachel didn't bother explaining, seeming to pretend it wasn't a big deal at all and instead inviting him inside to get straight to work.

He waved off her latest suggestion. "No. I've heard him sing in the showers after gym."

Rachel paced the length of her kitchen floor, sighing in frustration. Her fuzzy pink socks were gone, but he noticed a sterling silver toe ring winking from one foot, nails painted a bright red. His eyes wandered up, following the length of her legs, tanned and toned and too long not to admire. She was wearing shorts today; sunshine yellow accented her skin and made her white top look even more pristine. It was still weird to see her outside of her Cheerios outfit, but sometimes he felt like it separated the two; cruel-school-Rachel versus partner-in-crime-Rachel. One he could handle, the other he still despised.

With that thought, he turned his attention away from her. The vegan kugel she'd heated up for dinner was currently steaming away on the island countertop. Noah picked at it with a spoon, too stubborn to admit he actually liked the taste, but not stubborn enough not to eat it.

"Is there anybody you _won't_ veto?" she wondered.

"So far all you've given me is people who run in _your_ circle…" He shrugged. "Not exactly getting my hopes up here."

She blew out an irritated breath. "Well, I can't just walk up to the AV club and demand they sing for me."

He raised a brow. "They'd probably do the chicken dance if you asked 'em."

She rolled her eyes. "You overestimate my power."

"Or _you _underestimate it," he scoffed before taking a mouthful of kugel and wincing as it burned the roof of his mouth.

She pursed her lips. "My entire high school reputation is hanging by a thread because of _Finn Hudson_. A boy that I've spoken to more in the last few weeks _just_ because I need him to quit this club than in _all _the time I've known him." She threw her hands up. "A boy who still uses his fingers to count!" She laughed humorlessly. "A boy who has so far gotten away on his good looks and is now paying for it and taking me down with him!"

He snorted. "Little harsh, Berry, you might want to dial it back."

She glared at him, but crossed her arms over her chest and seemed to reign it in. "I'm sorry. I've just been very… _overwhelmed_."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see being top dog has really taken it out of you…"

Lips pursed, she circled to take a seat next to him and eat some of her dinner with the spare spoon. "You're very bitter," she told him. "I don't imagine that will translate well on camera."

He glanced at her. "This isn't my show-face."

She raised a brow. "Your what?"

"My show-face… Like, when I get interviewed and I have to tell people what my childhood was like and how I defied social norms." He shrugged. "Can't be bitter then. I've gotta sound like I wasn't affected, y'know? Like I always knew I'd get there."

Her brows furrowed. "But… Don't you?"

He dragged his spoon through the dish, gathering up little bits of leftovers, and brought it to his mouth. "What?"

"Think you'll get there?"

He pursed his lips, chewing. "Yeah…" He shrugged. "But I'm not the first guy who thought it and was wrong, right?"

She stared at him a long moment and he started to shift in his seat; usually when Rachel Berry set her sights on someone, that person wasn't in for a treat.

Finally, expression drawn with consternation, she said, "I've never seen you doubt yourself before… You've always been so confident, _boastful_ even…"

He turned a smirk on her. "I know I'm talented, Rachel. I know I _should _be a star…" He snorted. "But then again, I probably _shouldn't_ be bullied or treated like shit, so… Life isn't fair, right?"

She turned her eyes away.

Clearing his throat, he sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter. "S'good," he said, pointing at the kugel with his spoon.

She smiled slightly. "I made it myself."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "My nana taught me how to cook… It's come in handy lately."

He stared at her and finally asked what he'd been wondering, "Your dads working late?"

A curtain fell over her face. "We should focus on our plan…" She hopped out of her chair once more to continue her pacing. "The AV club is out… I recently had Coach Sylvester show up unexpectedly at Jacob Ben-Israel's house, so it's unlikely he'll offer himself or any of his friends up to sing…"

And like that, what personal information they'd been sharing was stuffed away and dismissed. Noah had to remember that Rachel wasn't his friend; she was a means to an end, and that was probably exactly what she thought of him as too. As soon as he got his full roster and she got Finn out of Glee's clutches, it would be back to the same old, same old.

He had to remind himself, as he ate half of her kugel and watched her move, dark hair bouncing at her shoulders, dangerously long legs on display, that it would be better that way. When he wasn't spending much of his free time with her or getting to know what went on behind closed doors. Because the more he knew, the more he felt sorry for her, and it was getting damn hard to hate somebody when he pitied them so much.

...

"You're spending a lot of time out lately," his mother said, as subtle as ever.

Noah had just walked in the door, a little later than expected since Rachel was a hard-ass and wanted to have some kind of plan set out for who they would check out next. "Yeah, well, school's important, right?"

"Still working on that science project?" she asked, her brow raised.

"Sure."

Her brows furrowed. "Noah, what's really going on?" She sat forward from her armchair and motioned to the couch as if to tell him to join her.

He sighed, but crossed the room to take a seat across from her, shoulders hunched as he sunk down into the cushion. "Nothing… I got a big project, we're figuring it out." He shrugged.

She stared at him, her upturned hand a rest for her chin. "You think I don't know you better than this, bubbala? Huh?" she reached over and pinched his knee. "Who is this girl? She nice? She a friend?" Her eyes lit up in that hopeful way that always made him feel just a little bit like a failure. His whole life he couldn't say he'd ever really had a friend, but he could see in his mom how much she wished that was different. She was like any parent, thinking their kid was the best and everybody should love them.

He almost lied to her. Almost told her yeah, sure, him and Rachel were on the road to besties. Just so that twinkle in her eye would stay there. But he couldn't. First, 'cause that was way too out there. As if he'd ever be friends with Rachel Berry! Yeah, so they were civil to each other, but he had no delusions as to how it would all play-out in the end. She would no longer have to fear losing her power and so he would be expendable. The slushees would probably start back up the second Hudson walked out of the choir room, never to return.

"Nah, she's just…" He shook his head. "We're just workin' on something… And I'm the only one who could help her out. Only reason she's even talking to me." He frowned apologetically. "Sorry ma…"

Her face fell and her hand gripped his suddenly and tightly. "You listen to me…" She stared at him hard. "You have _nothing _to apologize for!"

He opened his mouth to argue. 'Cause yeah, he was a talented singer and he had plans to make some serious bucks when his music went mainstream, but that didn't mean he wasn't difficult. One of the reasons she worked so damn hard was for his vocal and music lessons. And then all the laundry he had to do on the sly because of the slushees, he bet she was wondering why her laundry soap budget tripled. And just the general fact that her kid was a loser; a grade A geek. No friends, nobody to hang with. At his bar mitzvah, it was all family and Jacob Ben-Israel, and he only came because his parents forced him. His whole damn life the only thing he ever relied on, the only thing that gave him any comfort, was his guitar. He knew it wouldn't leave his side, wouldn't abandon him or turn its back on him, because it couldn't. It was inanimate, had no legs or feelings or anything. But he hoped that if it did, it would remain true to him. Because he'd put his heart and soul into it; he treated it with the gentleness only a person who truly cherished and admired something could.

"You are a _good _boy, Noah…" She touched his cheek gently, her eyes soft. "These people, these—these _ignorant _people, have no idea of who you are or what your heart holds…" She shook her head. "There's so much love and kindness and yes, _talent_, inside you…" She sighed. "I just wish they would take a chance to see what is _so_ obvious to me."

His eyes fell, heart in his throat. "I'll show 'em," he finally breathed. "All of 'em."

"Oh, bubbala…" She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Just show yourself… That's all that really matters."

He stared at the floor a long moment, his brows furrowed.

Finally, she stood, kissed his forehead and said goodnight before climbing the stairs.

And Noah sat, wondering if maybe all of this, his fight for fame and his deep-seated bitterness, was really just him trying to prove to himself that he wasn't what they thought he was. Maybe in the end, he wouldn't be happy when he had it all. When his name was internationally known and his songs were played the whole world over. The thought scared him, _jarred _him. Because what if, after everything, after all he'd been through and all he'd done and said and wished for, happiness and acceptance was just as fleeting as ever?

…

"Bunny?"

Rachel startled awake, blinking wildly, only to find her daddy leaning over her, his brows furrowed over his square glasses. She wiped at the crusted drool at the corner of her mouth and stared up at him in confusion. "What…?"

"You fell asleep on the couch," he told her, half-frowning. "We didn't even see you when we came in. The living room was pitch-black; we just assumed you were in bed."

"Oh. I… I was just… science project," she muttered tiredly.

"It's fine." He stroked her hair back from her face. "You should head up to your room though. It's still early; you don't have to be up yet."

"No. I…" She smiled, rubbing her eyes quickly. "I'm up. How was work? Are you almost finished? I…" She forced a smile. "I feel like we haven't had any time to talk or…" She shook her head, shrugging one shoulder as if to seem nonchalant, "see each other at all."

"I know." He nodded. "Your dad and I have just been really busy. You know how it is." He stepped back and started toward the kitchen. "Why don't you tell us about your science project?" he suggested.

She frowned, tossing off the throw blanket she'd fallen asleep wrapped in while she was going over her list of Glee hopefuls. "Oh, it's… nothing important." She followed at his heels and her eyes darted between her two dads, who worked easily between each other to get their breakfast and coffee ready, passing butter and bread and cream and sugar between one another seamlessly. "I made a lasagna," she told them brightly. "I put it away. I—I hoped we could all have it together…" Her eyebrows rose. "Maybe tonight?"

"Perhaps…" her daddy said, staring thoughtfully down at his coffee mug.

"We have that thing…" her dad said, shaking his head.

"Oh, right." He nodded, tapping the edge of his mug with the spoon. "Sorry, bunny, we have a dinner meeting with a few clients tonight. We made plans so long ago it slipped my mind." He waved his hand at his head as he sipped his coffee. "What would I do without your old dad, hm?" He smiled at his husband, who rolled his eyes lightly. "But maybe this weekend… Or—" He snapped his fingers. "Why don't we take a trip, hm? We'll all go away for a weekend." He looked to his husband, brows hiked. "Well-deserved, don't you think?"

Rachel felt joy well up inside her, spirit bursting to life with hope. "Can we?"

Her dad thought it over, nodding his head to side as he went through their schedule in his head. "Sure. Yes! We'll fit it in!" he decided, smiling.

"Yay!" Rachel clapped her hands together. "Oh, I can't wait! Where will we go?" She hopped up from her seat. "Should I pack for warm weather, or—?"

They laughed fondly at her jubilation.

"I'll check online for something nice and warm," her dad promised. "We'll leave early Friday, next week, that way we have the whole weekend." He grinned wider, proudly. "We'll come home on Monday! What's two days of school when our girl has top grades?"

Rachel beamed. "I'm going to look through my closet now!" she told them, backing up toward the stairs excitedly. "It's going to be amazing!" she called back to them. "We'll have so much fun that you'll want to do it every month, I bet!"

Their warm chuckling reached her as she topped the stairs and Rachel put aside the feelings of loneliness and disappointment, replacing them with the happy thought that this would make up for all of it. They would go away and spend some real family time together and they would remember how important it was to spend more time with her and work would be pushed back or put away in favor of her. Yes, she told herself, that's exactly what would happen. _It had to!_

…

Rachel was on cloud nine when she arrived at school that day. She met up with Quinn and leaned against the bank of lockers, smiling brightly.

"You look happy," Quinn mused, raising a brow.

"I am." She shrugged. "Dad and daddy are taking me away next weekend." She waved a hand. "A _whole _weekend of just us!"

She smiled softly. "I'm glad."

Rachel felt her heart hammer at how genuine Quinn's voice was. If there was anybody in the world who understood how desperate Rachel was for her parent's acceptance and attention, it was her. Maybe because they were in a similar situation, although Quinn's parents seemed more of the hovering, overbearing types, while Rachel felt like her dads were absent, though their expectations seemed to hang in the air and permeate every single thing she did.

"Have you introduced Finn to your dad yet?" she wondered.

Quinn's face fell. "Not… exactly."

Her brows hiked. "Why?"

"Well…" She sighed. "I don't know. I mean, before, I think it was just because I liked having him to myself… I liked that he didn't have to fit their picture-perfect image of who I should date…" She smiled wistfully as they left her locker to walk down the hall.

Rachel snorted lightly. "Quinn, he's the quarterback of the football team… He's the All-American boy! He's _exactly _who they want for their little girl."

"Until he opens his mouth…" She laughed gently. "I love him but he's not the _brightest _boy…" She shook her head. "I don't know. I feel like daddy's going to put him on the spot and he'll get tongue-tied and they won't see everything in him that I do… They'll just decide he's not good enough and order me to dump him and…" She let out a sigh, shaking her head. "I don't want to lose him, Rachel." She looked over at her, brows knit. "Between daddy and _Glee_, I just… I can't help worrying that everything is on the verge of blowing up in my face and I just…" She closed her eyes briefly. "I'm _tired_ of it…"

Rachel turned her head to look at her thoughtfully as they stopped in front of her locker. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Finn has any plans on losing you… He's head over cleats for you, Quinn."

Her smile returned. "He is," she agreed. "But since when is what we want ever enough for it to happen?"

"We're the most popular girls in the school, what we want isn't optional but _necessary_."

"Until we're not." She leaned back against the lockers and frowned. "And let's face it, Rachel… They don't want us to be happy…" Her eyes scanned the faces around them. "They want to see us fall."

Rachel stood a little taller and turned her narrowed eyes out on the masses. "Well they'll be disappointed then."

Quinn turned to look at her. "And Finn?"

Her lips thinned. "I'm working on it," she said with finality.

…

She was wearing leotards. Personally, he was starting to think hiding her legs should be a crime. But in the same breath, he thought it was kind of cute. Her leotards were a deep, dark red, mixed with a black skirt and a sweater covered in white rabbits.

"Your nana has a lot of free time, huh?" he said in greeting.

She pursed her lips at him, rolling her eyes as she held the door open wider. "You should feel blessed, you know? You're the only one who ever sees a Nana Lorraine special!" She took the edges of her skirt and held them out as she curtsied for him dramatically.

He snorted. "'m honored."

She walked past him toward her kitchen. "Did you eat already?"

His stomach grumbled in response.

She grinned. "I'd hoped not."

As he stepped into the kitchen, his mouth watered at the smell filling the room.

"No leftovers tonight," she told him, before reaching for a pair of oven mitts. "I made this out of scratch from a recipe Nana Lorraine sent over and I just _know _you're going to love it!"

He was momentarily mesmerized by the way her ass looked in her skirt as she bent to get her food out of the oven. Brows hiked, he stared at the way the fabric hugged the curves of her butt and he thought, if she wasn't wearing leotards, he might've gotten a glimpse of panty. He cleared his throat suddenly, shifting his feet. These last couple weeks were screwing him up. Ever since he and Rachel had started working on this plan, he'd felt like he was way too _aware _of her. Before, he could ignore her or avoid her, but now he felt like his phone was always buzzing with a text from her or she was always walking down his hall or every day they seemed to be meeting to talk about potentials and it was like… His whole life was Berry-fied.

"It's still hot, so you'll have to let it cool…" she said, reaching across to turn off the oven and tossing her mitts aside. She turned on him with a smile. "_So_, while we're waiting, would you like to explain to me why you nixed my latest suggestions?" She crossed the room to hop up on the island counter, taking a seat and crossing her leg over her opposite knee.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "They sucked?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" she wondered, brow raised.

"Both." He reached for a stool and dragged it out to sit on. "Look, two of those guys have locked me in port-a-potties and tossed me in garbage cans. I dunno about you, but I don't exactly like having to look at my tormentors on a day-to-day basis…" Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest. "What about the drama club or something? Some of those guys have to be singers, right?"

"They're a tight-knit club," she reminded, shaking her head. "Hard to infiltrate and even harder to scoop." She frowned. "I know because I tried to talk one of them into becoming a Cheerio… Her high-kick was _amazing_…" She shook her head. "But she was all about the stage and called my pom-pom's anti-feminist…" Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm unequivocally about girl power, so I don't know what kind of energy drink that girl was snorting, but I wouldn't want that kind of negativity on my team _anyway!_"

Noah blinked at her. "Okay… so no drama club."

She nodded. "And the others? What were wrong with them?"

"Where do I even start?" He spent the next ten minutes going through all the reasons her latest batch just wouldn't cut it.

Finally, Rachel served out their dinner and sat across from him. "You realize we can't keep doing this, don't you?"

He stilled, eyes cutting toward her. "Doing what?" he asked, mouth full.

Her nose wrinkled, but she didn't say anything about his lack of manners. "We can't simply nix every person I suggest. I get that you don't _really _want anybody else in your club, but you _need _twelve members if you want to get anywhere. So if you want this club to mean anything on a college application, you need to suck it up and accept that some of these people that you don't like are your only chance."

He frowned, staring down at his food, which actually happened to be pretty damn amazing. "What if they take it from me?" he finally wondered, glaring at his fork. "What if I fill up the club with some half-assed talent and one day they all get together and just… vote me out?"

She didn't say anything.

His eyes slowly moved over to meet hers. "Nobody likes me," he said, voice low and entirely too full of hurt and he _hated _it. "At least Kurt, Mercedes, Tina and Artie, they…" He shrugged. "I dunno. They get me, right? Like, they know why I'm so into it… But everybody _else?_" He shook his head.

Rachel swallowed tightly. And finally, after a moment, she reached across and covered his hand with hers, her warm fingers moving delicately over his skin.

Noah didn't know why but suddenly it felt like everything had shifted into his throat; his stomach, his lungs, his heart. They were all swollen and cutting off his ability to speak or think or move. All he could do was stare at her tiny, cute hand, covering his much larger one.

And then she squeezed. "How about this…?" His eyes rose up to meet her, staring at him searchingly. "We replace Finn and fill your club and if there is _ever _discord, if you ever think they're planning on kicking you out…" She took a deep breath. "Then you tell me and I will make it my _personal _mission to completely _destroy_ them."

His brows rose.

She shrugged, rolling her eyes slightly. "Or at the very least scare them into dropping their witch-hunt."

Noah stared at her a long moment, his lips tilted in a bewildered smile. "Are you… trying to comfort me by offering to make other people's lives worse than mine?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well… Yes."

He snorted, shaking his head. "That's probably the worst comforting technique in, like, _ever_."

She blew out an irritated breath, taking her hand back. "Well, see if I offer my services in the future!"

He laughed. "You're crazy," he told her, but even he was surprised by how _not _insulting he actually sounded. Instead it was almost… _affectionate_.

Clearing her throat, Rachel turned her eyes down to her food. "We should eat…"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he nodded, turning his attention back to his food.

After a few awkward minutes though, he said, "What if I said Azimio was out for me?"

She half-smiled. "Done. I never liked him anyway. He's always _leering _at my Cheerios." She shook her head.

"Okay… Karofsky?"

She scoffed. "Are you kidding? That buffoon! If he wasn't such a good football player, he'd be hanging from the flagpole _as we speak!_" she boasted.

He knew she was kidding. He wasn't sure _anybody _had ever been hung from the flagpole. But he got the gist. Maybe she wasn't the best at comforting people, but she was only doing what she knew. And since he'd personally been on the receiving end of her wrath, he wouldn't wish it on anybody, but the idea that she would support him, even after they got Finn out of Glee, was kind of… cool. He didn't _want _to believe her, didn't want to get his hopes up that maybe, just _maybe_, he had won her over enough that she might not make his life a living hell anyway, but he couldn't help but think she looked really damn genuine when she promised him she would look out for him.

It felt good… He thought it might be the closest he'd ever got to friendship.

…

Something happened after that night, some kind of barrier broke where he no longer felt like he was on edge with her, waiting for the bottom to fall out. And she… actually seemed to be treating him like a real person. He wasn't sure how long it would last, but it felt good for the time being. So when he felt his phone buzzing and there was a fifty-fifty chance it was a suggestion or some random tidbit on a Cheerio or somebody she knew, since Rachel was a bit of a gossip and apparently thought he was safe enough to talk to (not like he had anybody to tell), he found himself grinning. Even when it didn't buzz, he would take it out and check, just in case he'd missed it and she'd sent him something. He chose not to wonder what that even meant but reality was he was probably getting in over his head.

…

They met up in the choir room that day because, for the first time in awhile, her dads would be home for dinner, hopefully to finish planning their weekend vacation coming up. Since she didn't know how she was supposed to explain Noah to them, she just figured it made sense that they meet up and exchange information at school. With the choir room door closed and locked, she was safe from prying eyes.

"I'm not saying he'll win you that Sectional thing you were talking about, but I _am_ saying he's easily manipulated and that, if necessary, I can find the required blackmail material to get him on your team," she told him.

He frowned at her. "Where the hell'd you get a glossy picture of this kid?"

She looked at the headshot in her hand and shrugged. "I used the school website and printed it off my computer at home… It really wasn't very complicated."

He shook his head. "And we needed pictures, because…?"

She pursed her lips at him. "I thought it added a nice visual." She shrugged. "Also I was working on a class project that gave me the idea. I happen to like preparation and order! It's how I've remained on Honor Roll."

"And you're a kiss ass," he reminded.

She raised a brow. "Let's not forget how you flirt with all the female teachers to keep your grades above a B-minus," she reminded, putting a hand on her hip.

He stared at her in surprise.

"I know you want to look good for your performing arts schools, but just remember that exchanging sexual favors for grades would still be considered prostitution and that's not going to look good when the paparazzi get a hold of it," she told him, smirking.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not sleeping with any teachers."

"Right," she scoffed. "And Mrs. Renshaw always bites her pencils like that when students stop by her desk to talk grades."

He snorted. "So she's into me. Doesn't mean I'm doing anything…" He shrugged. "I take my future seriously, Rachel. I've gotta be picky with who I hook up with." His eyes widened meaningfully. "That stuff comes back to haunt you! I don't plan on having any skeletons in my closet."

She eyed him dubiously. "You expect me to believe that _you_, a virile sixteen year old boy with _your _looks isn't sleeping around with whoever offers?"

Noah grinned at her slowly. "Did you just call me sexy?"

"I called you _virile _and implied you were handsome…" She shook her head and shrugged dismissively. "You can take that however you like."

He snorted. "So you think I'm hot. Super loser Noah Puckerman turns your crank."

Rachel's mouth gaped, her eyes wide and her skin quickly turning scarlet. "I—You—_No!_"

He threw his head back as he laughed. "You should see your face!"

With a huff, Rachel tossed the file folder of pictures at his chest. "You can go over the rest on your own. I'm leaving!"

"Wait!" He scooped up the pictures falling out of the file. "You sure you don't want a picture of me? I'll sign it! You can hang it on your ceiling or something, fantasize about me!"

"You're ridiculous!" she told him, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. As she got to the door, she called back, "Look through those pictures. We're on a time limit, Puckerman!"

"Sweet dreams, Berry!" he shouted after her.

While she found his crude comments unnecessary, if somewhat amusing, Rachel couldn't help but enjoy how much more comfortable he seemed to be with her. They weren't friends, of course! So what if he made her laugh or occasionally, just the thought of meeting up with him made stomach flip-flop… Those were perfectly legitimate feelings toward someone who was helping her scheme!

…

Rachel couldn't help the excited grin on her face. So far, dinner had gone off without a hitch. Everything was timed perfectly and Nana Lorraine's recipe was _flawless! _She'd broken out the good dishes and polished silverware simply because it felt like ages since she and her dads had spent a meal together.

"I've already packed one suitcase," she told them. "I know it's only a few days, but you never know what the weather will be like and I want to be prepared!" She speared a piece of broccoli with her fork. "Quinn and I went shopping and found the perfect new bathing suit and—"

"Actually, Rachel," her daddy interrupted. "We've been meaning to talk to you about our weekend trip…"

"Oh, okay…" She looked between them. "Was the resort in Cabo too expensive?" She shook her head. "It's fine! It was just a suggestion! I'm sure we could find somewhere less expensive!"

"Bunny, we won't be able to _go_ next weekend…"

Rachel's brows furrowed. "But… you said…" She looked to her dad. "You said you would make it happen!" She tossed her fork down. "You _promised!_"

"Rachel, _please! _Calm down. We can discuss this like adults. Yes, our plans have to be cancelled, but there's no reason to get upset. We—"

"No _reason?_" She choked on her tears. "No reason!" She leapt up, her chair falling back. "I hardly _ever _see either of you and all I asked for was that you take just one _moment _of your time to spend with me, _your daughter! _But all you _do _is work! Every minute of every day, you're working! And I _tried!_" She swiped at her face. "I tried to be understanding but you are _never _here and—"

"That's enough!" her daddy said, standing. "I think you've made your point."

She swallowed, tears streaming down her face, and looked between them. "You won't change your minds," she whispered.

"We have a very important business—"

She turned on her heel then and marched away. Right past the stairs leading to her bedroom and out the front door, past her car and down the driveway, she continued down the sidewalk and turned down the block, past two stop signs, eyes blurred with tears. She didn't stop, hardly paid any attention to where she was going, she just kept walking. As far away as she could get; she just wanted to get away from their voices and their lack of understanding and their frowning faces, telling her she was out of line, that she had no right to scold them for their behavior.

"I have every right," she muttered under her breath. Hands balled into fists, she cried out louder, "_Every right!_"

But there was nobody to hear her, nobody to tell her she was right, so she just kept walking. Until finally, she was standing in the backyard of the Fabray's. She climbed the tree outside of Quinn's bedroom, a long branch reaching out far enough that when she was younger she could easily leap across and climb in through her window. But that was when she was twelve and she couldn't say she'd tried since.

Still, straddling the tree branch, wiping quickly at her wet face, she whisper-shouted, "Quinn! _Psst! _Quinn!"

There was no answer and Rachel was getting progressively more upset. She pulled a small hand-sized branch off the tree and tossed it toward the window, making a clank as it connected. "Quinn, _please!_" she sniffled, her shoulders drooping.

But Quinn's room was dark, as well as the rest of the house, and Rachel finally came to the conclusion that they weren't home. It was early enough that they might've gone out for dinner and she couldn't even guess when they might return. Finally, she climbed down and fell to the grass on her knees, gulping in breaths of air and fighting the desperate need clawing at her chest to just break down and _sob_.

It wasn't the vacation. It wasn't the loss of sun and tan and white sandy beaches. It was her fathers. Her stupid, _stupid _dads… She wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head as the tears burned her eyelids, determined to get free. She was swallowing the cries in her throat when her pocket started buzzing. She ignored it at first, but eventually pulled it out, hoping maybe it was Quinn, or heck, at this point she might take Santana or Brittany.

Instead, she saw Noah's name flashing, saying she received a text from him. Chewing her lip, she opened it.

_My sister's watching re-runs of American Idol… I totally could've rocked this shit better than half these dudes! – N.P._

Her brows furrowed as a vague laugh left her. Wiping at her nose, she sat back against the tree and thumbed back a response.

_Don't you dare put down Kris Allen, Noah! He's a lovely singer!_

She waited, knees pressed to her chest, for him to respond.

_Lambert totally nailed it better than Allen, Berry. Legit._

Her mouth dropped open and a sharp laugh escaped.

_Lies!_

For the next hour, they debated the merits of Kris Allen versus Adam Lambert, before finally Rachel saw the headlights of the Fabray's BMW flash out front.

Inwardly, she thanked Noah for his great timing and helping to keep her from a mental breakdown without even meaning to. To him, though, she simply texted, _We'll just have to agree to disagree… Even if I'm right and America agrees with me. :P I have to go, but we'll pick this up tomorrow!_

She'd climbed the tree and was perched in wait when her phone buzzed with his reply.

_It was rigged. Later._

She snorted, wanting to argue with him over the preposterous 'rigged' suggestion, but then she saw Quinn's bedroom light turn on and tucked her phone away in her pocket.

Waving her arms, she called out, "Quinn! _Psst!_ Out here!"

Pausing, the blonde Cheerio looked around in confusion, before finally her eyes landed on her window and peered outside. Walking to it, she pushed it up and leaned out. "Rachel?" Her head tipped. "What're you doing—?"

And then, as if she hadn't just spent an hour forgetting how much it hurt, it all came back. "We're not going," she whispered, her head falling. "They've picked work again…" She sniffled. "I—I just left. I _couldn't_…"

Quinn sighed sadly. "Get down out of there and meet me at the door," she ordered.

Rachel wiped her face and listened, feeling ridiculously small when most of the time she'd always felt the stronger of the two of them. But when her feet landed on soft grass and Quinn met her in the yard and gathered her in a hug, Rachel let herself be the weaker one and accepted her comfort, burying her face in her shoulder as she cried.

She ended up staying the night. Seeing her upset, Quinn's mother simply pet her hair gently and offered to call her dads and let them know where she was and that she would be staying over. Rachel always preferred Judy to Russell. Maybe it was the lack of mother in her own home, but she thought Judy was a sweet, if occasionally overly-involved, parent.

"Do you think…?" She bit her lip, staring at Quinn's ceiling as she lay on the bed, pillow propped under her head. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Quinn rose up on her elbows to look at her, brows furrowed. "No! Of course not! Don't be stupid!"

"Then _why_…" She shook her head. "I try to be perfect for them… I try _so hard_…" She closed her eyes so tight a few tears squeezed out.

"Then _stop_," Quinn told her.

Rachel looked at her, confused.

"Stop trying so hard for their approval, Rachel…" She stared at her searchingly. "The only one you have to make happy is _you_."

She scoffed. "I don't want to burst your optimistic bubble, Quinn, but when has that ever been true…? For _either _of us?"

She shrugged lightly. "Well, maybe it should be."

"Yeah…" She rolled onto her stomach and hugged her pillow, remembering something Noah had said. "But the 'shoulds' all depend on life being fair… and it's not. Never has been and likely never will."

She smiled sadly, shaking her head. "You're getting bitter, B…"

"It's not showing, is it?" She made a mock-worry face and touched her cheek. "I wouldn't want Coach on my case about bitterness making me look too old."

Quinn snorted. "She's one to talk!"

They laughed and, for a little while, let go of what was always holding them down. It was bound to return, but for the moment, they were free. Tomorrow, it would be back to the grind, back to the mask of perfection that was getting too heavy for either of them to hold. Tonight, they were just two lost girls, finding comfort in a friendship slowly repairing itself.

Rachel fell asleep to the sound of Quinn's faint snore filling the room, holding her cell phone to her chest, telling herself she wasn't hoping Noah might text her. But at eleven that night, she startled awake when her phone vibrated in her fingers, only to sleepily read out two simple words:

_Night Princess_.

Not entirely aware of her surroundings, she smiled, whispering into the quiet of the room, "Night, Noah…"

Beside her, suddenly very awake, Quinn's eyes widened.

**[To be continued**: Part IV.**]**


	4. Part IV

**Title**: This Ain't A Romeo And Juliet Thing  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Drama/Romance/Humor  
**Ship**: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Quinn  
**Rating**: Teen  
**For**: Puckleberry Week on Tumblr – Day 4 – Genderswap/_Role Reversal_  
**Word Count**: 8,516  
**Summary**: Noah Puckerman has one goal in life; to become a famous singer. Rachel has one too; to make his high school life a living hell. But when quarterback Finn Hudson is forced to join Glee, they have to team up to keep him from toppling the school hierarchy, and more importantly to Noah, taking his spotlight. It isn't long before close quarters breeds an unexpected friendship that might just do more for and against them than Finn's love of song ever could.

**_This Ain't A Romeo and Juliet Thing_**  
-Novel-

**IV.**

Rachel rolled her eyes as her phone rang with yet another call. She tugged it free of her bag, hanging on the hook in her locker, and turned it over to see his smiling face staring back at her, atop the words: Daddy Calling. A familiar ache in her heart and a burning in her throat told her she still wasn't ready to forgive and forget, as she was more than accustomed to doing when it came to her dads and their history of putting work before her. Pressing ignore, she tucked her phone back in her bag and closed the locker door stiffly.

"Who pissed you off this time?"

Her head swiveled until her eyes met Noah's. He raised a brow at her, a half-smile playing at his lips. She was briefly distracted when her gaze lingered there, on his full, curved mouth. "Hm? Oh…" She turned her eyes away and cleared her throat. "Just my dad. He's… _clingy_."

"Really?" He snorted. "Could'a fooled me."

Frowning, she looked back at him sharply. "Excuse me?"

Lips pursed, he didn't say anything for a long moment, his face tense and oddly even more handsome than usual. There was a seriousness about Noah that came on very suddenly, as usually he was quite laid back, even for someone as socially unacceptable as he was. Maybe it was just the fact that he knew eventually he would be free and famous that anything anybody said or did to him was little in comparison, even worth it. But more recently, certain subjects got his back up. Finally, apparently ignoring the dig he'd made that he looked like he wanted to discuss more, he said, "Hey, listen, you wanna talk strategy after school today?"

Rachel decided to let it go, even as part of her was desperate to prod for more, for what he might've figured out about her. The girl who'd done so much to remain out of reach from the clawing fingers of the school masses, high upon a pedestal they had erected but she seemed to hold steady even as her grip continued to slide. She wanted to find out if this boy had learned weaknesses of hers that she could not afford to share. But she bit her tongue instead, more because she wasn't sure she wanted him to poke at a fresh wound or say things that she knew to be true, even as she feigned the opposite. To anybody who didn't know her well, she and her dads were terribly close, practically inseparable. Quinn was the only one who knew the truth. Though she suspected Brittany and Santana had their suspicions. Was it so obvious that Noah too had figured it out?

Shaking her head to rid herself of the thought, she told him, "Sure. Today works."

"Good. I'll see ya then." He started walking off, before tossing over his broad shoulder, "Your place, right?"

She paused. Her parents had been calling her quite a bit, although that wasn't surprising since she hadn't set eyes on them since she left last night in the middle of dinner after, what she assumed they considered to be, an epic temper-tantrum for not getting her weekend vacation. But the likelihood of them being home for dinner or, well, anything else, was small. Nodding, she said, "Yes. I'll see you there." Her lips pursed. "You have Glee, don't you?"

His brows hiked slightly. "You remembered…"

She scoffed, turning her eyes away. "It's hard to forget these days."

He half-grinned. "Yeah, I'll drop in after, so, five-ish?"

"That works."

"Later, Princess," he said, before _audaciously _he winked at her, and turned on his heel to walk away.

And Rachel wondered why something so insignificant it could be considered a facial twitch made her heart hammer and a smile grow.

She spent the rest of her day analyzing just that and never came up with a suitable answer.

…

"In front of the _school?_" Finn sat forward, his face pale. "But… Everybody in football would see me!"

"I think that's the _point_…" Kurt told him.

Mr. Shuester grinned. "Guys, we need more people on our team and the best way to do that is to showcase our talents…" Waving a felt at them, he walked toward his white board. "Look, we'll sing a song, a _classic_, and entice the crowd…" He nodded. "Before long, they'll be _lining _up!"

Mercedes frowned, her eyes narrowed. "Mr. Shue, they weren't lining up before, and they _won't _be lining up now!"

"You _have _to have more confidence," he argued. "You guys are _good!_"

"We're talented," Kurt agreed, picking at his nails. "That's obvious. Even everybody in this school who bullies us knows that…" He rolled his eyes. "But that talent makes us unique and _unique _doesn't attract the masses… at least not around here."

"Guys," Mr. Shuester looked around at all of them encouragingly. "This is going to be great. I _promise _you!"

"Quinn's gonna kill me…" Finn muttered, his wide eyes staring down at the floor. "Or worse, she'll _break up _with me…"

Noah shook his head before sighing. "Look, Mr. Shue, you know I'm all about the arts…" He lifted a shoulder. "And I'm working on a recruitment plan behind-the-scenes, but _this_… Getting us all out there to line up for the firing squad isn't going to help." His brows hiked. "They'll eat us alive."

"It's true," Artie agreed, nodding at Noah. "You don't know these kids like we do."

"They're hardcore," Noah said, nodding. "You're just gonna make things worse."

"But what if it w-works?" Tina wondered, looking around at them uneasily. "Wh-What if they really do s-see how g-g-great we are?"

"That's the spirit, Tina," Mr. Shue said, rejuvenated with his plan. "Look, we just have to wow them… Make them realize how much fun we have here, okay? And I think I have the perfect song…" As he scrawled, "_Le Freak_," across the board, a small-scale riot started.

…

Noah was exhausted by the time he rolled up to Rachel's house, and not at all surprised when he noticed hers was the only car in the drive. After arguing with Mr. Shue about his choice of song, even though he wouldn't be moved, they eventually agreed to at least practice Kanye West's 'Gold Digger' too, as a back-up. But the fact that they had a deadline now was weighing on him. It meant they had to get Finn out, and soon, or their whole plan was about to blow up in their faces. And yeah, so it probably wouldn't affect him as much as it would Rachel, but… He felt this weird urgency to help her as much as he could in the short time they had.

"You're early," she said, swinging the door open.

He shifted his feet and shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, well, Glee let out early and my sister's at a friend's, so…" He cleared his throat, glancing at the driveway. "Your dads home?"

Her face fell. "Uh, no, they…" She shook her head and forced a smile. "They're really busy! You know how it is!" She stepped back from the door, inviting him inside.

"My ma's a nurse; she's got crazy hours," he told her, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes.

Rachel looked over at him. "And your father?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "He left… When I was little."

"_Oh_." Her brows furrowed. "I… I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," he muttered, shifting uneasily.

Not saying any more, she walked down the hall, but instead of going into the kitchen like usual, she started climbing the stairs.

He'd never been in her bedroom. They pretty much always hung out in the kitchen, or the few times they talked at school, brief as they were, it was in either the auditorium or the choir room. It seemed to work out all right, dropping by her house on the regular, since she always had leftovers and was quick to offer him some. He got the feeling she spent a lot of time alone, although there were a few times she couldn't meet up because she and Quinn were doing something. But given the amount of time they ended up spending together for their scheme, he was surprised and a little concerned he'd never run into her dads before.

Rachel's room was red and white, matching the pom-poms and the Cheerio's outfit she had hanging by her Wall of Win. Seriously, she had a crazy amount of medals and certificates and giant ass trophies. She crossed to her bed, dragging her ponytail free and combing her fingers through her as she sat down, reaching into her bedside table for a writing pad and a pen with a fluffy feather top.

"I've been looking into a few more people and I've been thinking…" She sighed. "As much as I know you'd like to avoid it, I'd really like to start looking for information on your teacher."

He frowned, looking back at her. "You seriously think you're going to find something to blackmail Mr. Shuester with?"

"Of course." She shrugged. "Everybody has secrets."

"Yeah?" He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're yours?"

He honestly didn't think she'd answer, but for some reason, _she did_.

"I'm an insecure girl with daddy issues who fears that her entire life revolves around high school politics and is generally terrified that the rest of her life will be a perpetual tail spin of pathetic longing for the few times I was admired by people I hardly knew but that resented me the entire time behind my back."

He blinked at her. "Did you even… _breathe _during that?"

She laughed shortly. "I… I'm sorry." She tugged at her fingers uncomfortably, hands knotted in her lap. "I didn't mean to share that much."

He shrugged and, having nothing to really say, although his absent-dads-theory had been somewhat kind of been confirmed, he took a seat next to her on her bed. For a moment, he noticed that he could feel her body-heat seeping into his side. Her leg was close enough that their thighs were almost touching. She was wearing another sweater, no animals this time but black with pink hearts all over it, and a short pink skirt to match, riding high on her legs.

Grinding his teeth, he turned his eyes toward the carpet and let what she'd said, a whole bucket load of information that put a lot of what he _thought _about her into perspective, sink in.

It took him a little while, but eventually, gathering his courage, he admitted, "I don't have any friends."

She turned to look at him, but he couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't see her face.

"I mean, I never really tried to have any…" He frowned. "Or, no… Maybe back in elementary school, I…" He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I kind of tried to be friends with Finn and Mike and Matt…" He shrugged. "But then, y'know… We grew up."

Her eyes fell. "I… I'm sorry I was so awful to you."

He cleared his throat, frowning. "S'okay."

"No." She shook her head. "No, it isn't. What I did to you… How I treated you or encouraged others to treat you…" She inhaled deeply. "I'm alone, all the time. At school, I have the Cheerios but they only spend time with me because I… I'm their leader and they…" She smiled sadly. "They _have _to." Shaking her head, she twisted her fingers together. "And then I come home to this…" She closed her eyes. "This terribly empty house and I— I wish that my dads were here but when they are, I… I wish they weren't." Her voice broke. "Because I am _never _going to be good enough. For— _them_ or myself and I think… I _know _that the reason I was so, _so_ cruel to you was because I just wished I could be even half as accepting of myself as you are… I wish I could believe in myself like you do and know that I actually will accomplish everything I really want…"

Before he could say anything, she suddenly jumped up from her bed and sent him a wide, fake smile. "Ugh, enough of that!" She wiped her eyes quickly. "Let's get down to business, okay?" She grabbed the pad and pen. "Have you made any progress?"

He actually wanted to talk about it some more, even if he knew he wouldn't have the right words to help her. But for some reason, he felt like it was kind of big that she'd told him this stuff and, even though he'd never really had friends before, he thought he should be supportive or something.

But she had her pen waving, pink and purple feathers floating in the air, so he did what was expected and they returned to planning.

Later that night though, when he was lying in bed, arm tucked behind his head, staring at his ceiling, he thought about what she'd said and those fears she had and how she'd apologized for being so mean to him, how she'd basically told him every thought he'd had, every time he'd tried to comfort himself with the idea that other kids didn't like him because they were jealous, it was all true. Because the Princess of McKinley wasn't a cold-hearted bitch out to make him hurt just for the fun of it, or because he sucked more than any other person. But because he _could _get out; he had a real chance of making it while she was pretty sure she'd never leave city limits.

It should have comforted him, and maybe it did, just a little, but… He couldn't help thinking about how she'd said she would never be good enough for her parents or herself, and _fuck_, but he didn't hate her anymore. Not even close; not even a little bit; not even at all.

…

"I'm _telling _you, she said the name 'Noah.' _'Night, Noah_.'" Quinn shook her head, her eyes wide as she paced the length of her bedroom floor. "This isn't a coincidence.

"Well, I dunno…" Finn shrugged from where he sat on the edge of her bed, hands on his knees. "Maybe you just heard it wrong, right? I mean, it was late, and… She could've said anything. Lots of things rhyme with Noah…"

Hands on her hips, lips pursed, Quinn raised a brow. "Really? Name one."

His eyes darted away, brows furrowed. "Okay… There's…" He lit up excitedly. "_Somoa!_'

Her face screwed up in frustration. "So let me get this straight, _you_ think that in the middle of the night, Rachel just decided to say goodnight to a country out in the South Pacific Ocean…?"

"No…" His face went blank. "I'm saying Samoa rhymes with Noah…"

Closing her eyes, Quinn took a deep breath for patience, and when she released it, she walked toward her boyfriend. "Let's just think about this for a second, okay?"

Nodding, he raised his chin, looking like an oversized puppy eager to help. "Okay."

"So either Rachel was _tired_ and she said something that…" She shook her head, "rhymed suspiciously with Noah."

"Right."

"_Or_…" She blinked a few times, her brows hiked. "Or she's in a clandestine _something _with her so-called _science _partner…" Her eyes narrowed. "Who also happens to be the leader of the Loser Club…"

"_Hey_…" he complained.

Shushing him, she stared thoughtfully at the floor, her eyes darting. "Someone who'd probably rather light himself on fire than keep you in his club…"

"_Hey!_"

"Ugh." Turning, she slapped at his arm. "This is all _your _fault!"

"Wh-_What?_" Confused, Finn looked around. "_How?_"

"You got yourself into this mess with _Glee _club and now Rachel's probably trying to find a way to help you…" She frowned, correcting, "Or help herself, since if your stock falls, mine takes a dip too, which means so does hers…" Sighing, she stood from the bed. "So she's probably working with this Puckerman kid to get you out of Glee and in the meantime…" She pursed her lips. "She fell for him. Which means an even _bigger _problem!" Quinn stabbed a finger in his direction. "Getting you out of Glee club is one thing. Making Noah Puckerman popular…" She laughed, short and humorless. "Unlikely and just about impossible."

"So…" Finn wiped his hands on his jeans. "What are we gonna do?"

Quinn stared at him a long moment, before giving a heavy sigh. "I don't know…"

After a beat, Finn cleared his throat and said, "So, I guess this is a bad time to tell you that Mr. Shue wants us to sing in front of the whole school next week…?" At her dark glare, he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry…?"

…

Rachel spent her night wishing she could take back what she'd told Noah. And in the same breath she felt relieved that she'd finally acknowledged that her life wasn't as spectacular as it might have seemed. More importantly, she was glad she apologized, even if it meant spilling her guts on a whole lot of insecurities, some of which she hadn't even shared with Quinn. But Noah didn't judge her. Even while part of her expected to show up at school the next day and find them gossiping about her; expected that he'd shared everything he knew with people, to humiliate her and make her pay for treating him the way she did.

She walked into McKinley with her chin held high, prepared to take whatever they might throw at her, whatever sneering jab might come her way. But she was treated the same as any day, with respect and a little fear. She was surprised, even a little suspicious, but more than that, she was touched. That a boy she had mercilessly bullied for entirely too long kept her confidence. He didn't exploit it, didn't spread it around so the rest of their peers might realize she wasn't the perfect, fearless leader she pretended to be. Because really, what did she learn about him except that he had no friends? Nothing. Which meant she had laid all of her cards out, face up, and took a leap of faith, very unlike her, that he would understand and accept it.

And he had.

Rachel knew loyalty was fleeting. While she and Quinn had each other's backs, she often wondered what it might take for her golden-haired partner to cut ties and try ruling on her own. Seeing as Finn was her weakness at the moment and so she needed Rachel to help her with him and the debacle that was Glee club, she didn't think it would be any time soon. But that didn't mean she hadn't prepared herself long ago for a quick, hard stab in the back.

But as she stood in the halls of McKinley, the red and white pleats of her Cheerios skirt against her legs, her dark hair drawn up in a tight ponytail that swung delicately, soft hair tickling her neck, she stared out across the mass of moving students, some who liked, even admired her, others secretly, or not so secretly, hated her. And she knew that they weren't loyal to her; that they would never _be _loyal to her. But Noah was. Possibly, _probably_, against his better judgment, he'd decided not to use what he knew about her against her. And she wasn't sure what that meant, or what it could mean in the future, but she did know that her regret over hurting him in the past doubled. She resounded, standing there, that she would do whatever it took to make it up to him.

…

There was something deadly attractive about Rachel Berry. Noah knew first hand that she could destroy him with as much as a snap of her fingers. She'd been doing that for years, slowly. Torturously. But as she walked down the hall with that familiar smirk playing at her lips and her ponytail swinging, he watched her go and he didn't feel any contempt or hatred or bitterness toward her. Instead, he remembered the vulnerability on her face and the way she swiped quickly at her tears. And he remembered her animal sweaters and her fuzzy socks and the way she lit up proudly when she talked about her Nana Lorraine.

And when she looked over her shoulder and spotted him, that smirk changed for just a moment, to a genuine smile. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and ducked her face, her eyes falling, and he thought she looked so much prettier like that. Her long lashes brushing her cheeks and a nervous softness in the movement of her hands. And then she turned back around and continued on, head lifted high once more, mask back in place. He wondered if he was the only one who noticed that for just a handful of seconds it hadn't been the most popular girl in the school walking the halls; it wasn't the captain of the Cheerios; it wasn't perfect Rachel Berry. But just a girl with a pretty smile for a boy she probably shouldn't even be looking at, let alone smiling to.

When she was out of sight, he sighed to himself. And spent the rest of the day hoping he'd see that smile again.

…

"I forgot to tell you!"

Rachel held the phone back from her ear, frowning though she knew he couldn't see her. "I'm at practice… I can't talk long. Coach Sylvester expects us on the field."

"Yeah, fine, it'll only take a sec."

She covered the mouthpiece of her cell and raised a brow at Avery, a lingering Cheerio, staring after her wonderingly. "I'll see you on the field. Be sure to stretch," she ordered, pointing toward the door. As the girl skipped off, Rachel turned her attention back to Noah, waiting impatiently on her phone. "Okay. What didn't you tell me?"

"Mr. Shue's making us sing at an assembly… in front of the whole damn school."

Her eyes widened. "_What?"_

"He just told us yesterday but then we were at your place and we had that… talk and I just kinda forgot."

Rachel chewed her lip. "It—It's _fine_. We'll just… We'll have to move things along a little… faster than expected."

"What _things? _So far all we've got are a handful of maybes, all of which pretty much _suck_."

She rolled her eyes. "Your positive attitude is just _inspiring_…" she drawled.

He snorted. "Just speaking facts here, Princess."

She frowned. "Look, I have to practice, but, we'll talk after, all right?"

"Yeah, sure, fine."

"I'll call you when I'm done and we can meet at my place, is that okay?"

"Yeah." He paused and though it could've been anything, she felt like he had more to say.

"What?"

"Nothing… I'll see you later."

Lips pursed, she nodded. "Okay."

Hanging up, she tucked her phone back in her bag and put it away in her locker. Checking her shoelaces were double-knotted, she finally left the locker room to get down to business, but her mind was elsewhere…

How the hell were they going to stop Mr. Shuester from showcasing Finn to the whole school? In the end, she felt she really only had one option.

With a smirk, she jogged out onto the field to start stretching. She highly doubted Noah would approve, but then, Rachel didn't plan in on telling him anyway.

…

Rachel arrived home the same time Noah was pulling up to her house. Her body ached and she winced with every step she took from her car to her front door.

"You all right?" he asked, as he climbed out of his truck and jogged over.

"I think I pulled a muscle," she told him, face screwed up in pain.

He frowned. "Where?"

With a sigh, she dug out her keys and then groaned as she tried to raise her arms to the lock. "_Everywhere_."

Snorting, he took the keys from her and unlocked the front door. With a surprising show of strength, he reached around and scooped her up into his arms.

Giving a cry of alarm, she wrapped an arm around his neck. "Wh-What are you _doing?_"

He shrugged. "You were slow and whining… I've got 30 minutes before I gotta get home and get dinner started and before my sister gets back from the neighbors. So we gotta hurry this up…" Kicking the door shut behind him, he walked down the hall and then pivoted at the stairs, climbing them two at a time.

"This is completely unnecessary!" she argued, but she didn't shove away or demand he put her down. Truthfully, it felt good to be pressed up against his chest, which was acutely solid and warm.

She sighed with relief as he laid her down on her bed and her body relaxed into the comfort of her blankets and pillows. Her eyes fell thankfully closed until she felt his hand on her ankle, his fingertips rough and calloused. From strumming his guitar? she wondered. She watched as long, deft fingers smoothed her shoe off and then the clean white sock she'd put on after showering in the locker room. Her ankle felt bereft of his warm touch as he let go to reach for the other one and she thought, she was almost certain even, that his thumb was rubbing small circles against her skin as he pulled off that shoe and sock too, tossing them over his shoulder to the floor. Usually, the lack of order would have bothered her; she had a laundry basket not twenty feet away. But then he sat down on the bed and her feet were in his lap. She swallowed tightly.

He wiggled one of her toes and then raised a brow at her. "So? What's your plan?"

"My—My plan? I—" She shook her head. What _plan? _She wasn't the one fondling people's feet!

"With Finn and Glee and kicking this deadline's ass before the whole school finds out Hudson's a primo loser?"

"_Oh!_" she sighed, rolling her eyes at herself. She hoped he couldn't see the blush she felt warming her cheeks. Of course he didn't mean anything by it; not the rather intimate touching or carrying her upstairs or sharing feelings and secrets with one another. And neither did she! "Uh, well…" She stacked her hands on her stomach and turned her eyes up to her ceiling, trying not to pay much attention to how her heels were resting on his thighs, on top of his jeans, the only barrier between her skin and his. "Did he give you a date?"

He nodded. "He's thinking next Tuesday."

"_Tuesday?_" she burst out. Raising a hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "We—We have a week. _Not even!_" she cried. "This is a disaster! What… What are we going to _do? _I—I didn't plan for this! I had no idea he would want to bring so much exposure to your club. I thought for sure he would wait it out a little while, build up your song selection or—or _something,_ but a _week?"_

"Whoa, hey, calm down…" Hands on her ankles again, he was most definitely rubbing now, his thumbs making small little circles that seemed to get wider and wider. "Look, it's not ideal or whatever, but we can make this work."

"_How?_" she demanded, though she refused to look at him, partly for fear he might stop touching her. It just felt _so good_…

In all her sixteen years she'd never had a boy really touch her. There was that time in elementary school when she was boyfriend-girlfriend with Mike Chang for like, a week, and they'd kissed innocently a few times. But back then, romance was fleeting, and it wasn't long before they'd called it off and she'd gone back to spending all her time with Quinn while he returned to playing basketball and four-square with the boys. For seven days though, she'd shared Eskimo kisses with him and held hands and felt the soft, smooth five-second kiss of a boy who thought her hair was shiny and she had the prettiest smile in their whole grade. Since then, however, after taking over as co-queen of middle and high school, she had been careful about who she liked and hadn't really dated, more out of preservation than anything. Trust was necessary and there simply wasn't anybody she was willing to give that to.

And yet, here she was, not only trusting Noah Puckerman with her feet but with her entire high school future. A boy she'd been terrible to. A boy she'd terrorized. A boy who had no reason to help her. And really, so what if Finn stayed in his club longer than this week? So what if he became an outcast? It wouldn't hurt Noah any. As long as he was gone _eventually_, that was all that should matter. But here he was, willing to help her plan yet again, a way to get Finn out and fast, so she could keep her tarnished crown.

"You get Quinn to work on getting Finn to quit, or at the very least, chicken out on the big day. I'll talk to Shue about pushing our debut back. No guarantees it'll work, but I can try… In the mean time, maybe you start breaking out your blackmail material or put some pressure on those kids you said could sway in the back." He shrugged. "More spotlight for me, right?"

His fingers had ventured up, past her ankle to her calves, fingertips kneading into the overworked muscles, loosening them up. Rough palms scraping over her skin, sending shockwaves through her body. Biting down hard on her lip, she curled her toes.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice filled with a light teasing laughter.

Opening one eye, she stared at him. He was looking at her feet, toes digging into his thighs. But his hands hadn't stopped, still working diligently at her legs.

When his eyes rose up and met hers, she felt her breath stutter. Hazel green had darkened with something and his smile was beginning to fade. His fingers slowed, rose up to the tops and skimmed all the way up to her knees. Her breath left her on a puff of a gasp. His jaw ticked and he licked his lips, letting his eyes wander away from hers and down the lengths of her legs.

Suddenly, a ringing filled the room.

Blinking rapidly, as if coming out of a fog, he shook his head, and it was all too soon that Noah's hands left her and dug into his jeans. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time and then the call display. Wincing, he flipped it open. "Yeah?" He scrubbed his fingers over his head and then stood. "Yeah, ma, I'm on my way home now…" He rolled his eyes. "She was at the neighbors. I was gonna start dinner in a few…" He sighed. "_Okay_, I'll be there in five." Hanging up, he tucked the phone away and shrugged at her. "I gotta go. Uh…" He backed toward the door. "I'll talk to Shue, you talk to Fabray and work on those swayers, all right?"

Feeling a lump in her throat, she simply nodded.

Licking his lips one last time, his eyes ran down her legs and then he turned and left.

Rachel closed her eyes and listened to his footsteps descending the stairs and walking the hallway before finally the front door closed and his truck revved and then she was just alone, on her bed, with her legs still thrumming and her body warm and buzzing.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself.

But even as she told herself whatever just happened couldn't again, she couldn't find it in her to regret any of it.

…

He couldn't get her legs out of his head.

The feel of her soft skin under his hands; the way her toes dug into his thigh, painted a bright, vivid pink; how her breath came out in a tiny, shaky sigh. How she bit her lip and curled her fingers into her palm as his hands slid up the back of her calf.

It didn't take much for his mind to wander, for him to imagine what it would've been like to crawl up her bed, between those legs, soft and long and wrapped around his waist. To imagine his hand sliding up her skirt, feeling the shake of her thighs as he touched her. It was as he imagined her biting his lip instead of hers, their mouths slanted together, that he spilled into his fist, grunting in the quiet, dark expanse of his bedroom.

His head fell back against his pillow, and he panted, his eyes closed, and wondered if touching her was the worst or best thing he'd done in his life.

…

Noah had to tamp down the sudden urge to wave at Rachel when he saw her at lunch that day. It was stupid. So they'd spent the last couple weeks with each other, planning and scavenging for kids to be in his club. So she was actually pretty nice sometimes, under the whole cruel bitch veneer. So she had a really pretty smile and a tinkling laugh that did weird things to his gut. And so what if sometimes he forgot who she was and actually considered her the closest thing he had to a friend. He chose not to think about what he'd been doing last night to the memory of her soft legs, which was probably nowhere near _friendly_…

Even though he hid his hand mid-way to waving by gripping it around the strap of his back-pack, Rachel wasn't as cautious. When she looked up and caught sight of him, she smiled, her lips moved as if to say something, but realizing where they were and who she was with, she instead just nodded her chin.

It was small, probably easily overlooked, and there were a number of people around him that he was sure she could've said she was recognizing instead. But he knew it was for him. And for reasons he really didn't want to dissect, it made him feel pretty damn awesome.

Almost as much as going home each day and not having to throw his clothes in the washer; she'd kept up her deal. No slushees. And from what he could tell, she went a little further too. There was no writing on his locker and he hadn't been verbally or physically picked on by one jock since he and Rachel started scheming. He didn't know what that meant, really, so he chose not to think of it much.

But as he walked to the choir room to eat his lunch alone, he was smiling, and for the first time since he was a kid, it wasn't because he would have an awesome future and all the pain and suffering would be worth it. It was just because he'd been acknowledged, accepted in some tiny way. So he didn't have to cover up the hurt or disappointment, because he wasn't actually feeling it.

And that, when he really thought about it later, scared him.

…

Rachel was surprised to find her dad's car in the driveway. Brow furrowed, she climbed from her car and walked up the walkway. The door was unlocked, so she simply kicked her shoes off and walked down the hallway. She was just about to hurry up the stairs to her bedroom when she heard him call out, "Rachel, is that you?"

Leroy Berry had an uncanny ability to hear everything she didn't want him to.

Sighing, she turned around and headed toward the kitchen. "Yes, daddy, it's me," she said, clasping her hands together in front of her.

When he spotted her, he raised a brow. "Did you just get off practice?"

She frowned. "No… Coach Sylvester cancelled it today."

"Oh… You just looked…_rumpled_." He waved a hand dismissively. "Listen, Rachel, I wanted to talk to you about what happened the other night…" He stared at her searchingly. "I tried calling you…"

"I…" She dropped her eyes. "I know."

"I haven't seen you since that night, but I did want to talk to you… I know you spent the night at the Fabray's, Judy called me."

She nodded. "I just… I needed some space and Quinn… She's always there for me." Unspoken were the words, "_when you're not_," and, more importantly, "_because you're not."_ But Rachel didn't say that, partly because she wasn't sure she could and a little because as much as they hurt her, she simply couldn't do the same to them.

"Rachel," he sighed, and crossed the room to her. Taking her hand, he squeezed it. "You know your dad and I love you."

She nodded, but it was perfunctory now, her eyes stinging and her throat burning.

"And you know that if we could, we would take you on this trip." He patted her hand. "But you're growing up and as you get older, you'll have to start taking responsibility for things instead of running away from them. You'll have to learn that you can't just throw a tantrum when things don't go your way." He shook his head. "Maybe this is our fault for always giving you what you want, but… I was really disappointed in you when behaved that way."

Rachel's brows knotted and she closed her eyes tight.

"Your dad and I work very hard, all to give you everything you need in your life, and while we wanted this trip away too, we know that sometimes as adults we have to make sacrifices..."

Rachel didn't hear any more of what he said, all she heard was a loud ringing in her ears as his words repeated in her mind, over and over again.

_You'll have to start taking responsibility for things…_

_You'll can't just throw a tantrum when things don't go your way…_

_Maybe this is our fault for always giving you what you want…_

_I was really disappointed in you…_

_We have to make sacrifices_…

And finally, her dad kissed her forehead and took her shoulders in his hands and squeezed. "I'm glad we had this talk, Bunny. I'm meeting your dad for dinner; did you want to join us?"

Rachel shook her head faintly.

"Okay. Well, why don't you get cleaned up and start on your homework? That 4.0 won't keep itself now, will it?"

Nodding, she turned on her heel and started for the stairs. And as she climbed them to the second floor, she let her tears fall unhindered, burning a path down her cheeks.

…

Noah rang the doorbell twice more, frowning. Rachel's car was in the drive but she wasn't answering her phone. They'd made plans earlier at school for him to come over, and she'd always called or texted him if things changed. She was usually at the door as soon as he got there too, so it was as little weird that she wasn't answering.

He was only going to give it one last try before he left, but just as his hand reached the bell, the door finally swung open.

On the other side was a Rachel he'd never seen before; her hair was lopsided and tangled, her face blotchy, and she was wearing possibly the rattiest pair of sweatpants ever, under a sweater that read _Cheer Camp _across the front.

"I really don't think tonight is a good night," she told him in greeting, her voice hoarse.

His brows hiked. "Who died?" he wondered.

She snorted and then her shoulders started shaking with laughter, and then the tears were falling and she'd buried her face in her hands. Dumbfounded, he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do.

"Whoa, okay… Uh, I'm sorry? Look, I… I put my foot in my mouth a lot, all right? I—I don't have friends, I don't know what I should'a said!" He shook his head, waving his hands at her to stop.

Sniffling, she swiped at her face, brushing her hair back. "My daddies don't _want _me…" she cried, her shoulders slumping and her face crumbling.

Sighing, Noah stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. "Okay… _That_'s something I know about."

Backing her up into her house, he kicked her door shut behind him. He rubbed her back in circles like he did to his sister when she was sick, and hummed a soft tune against her ear, rocking her just a few inches from left to right. It was a couple minutes before her sniffling slowed down, and then she was just leaning into him, her face pressed against his chest, her eyes closed.

"You good?"

Her hands were tangled in his shirt, arms hanging loosely. "I… I do _everything_," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I volunteer, I'm a cheerleader, I have top grades, I'm the most popular girl in the school…" She shook her head. "But they don't even want to sit with me. They don't _talk _to me… It's like I'm a painting in their house and they only bring me out on big occasions, to talk about how pretty and perfect I am. And when everybody leaves, they just… They pack me away." She gulped a deep breath and pressed herself against him even harder. "I know why you hate me, I was terrible to you, but why do _they _hate me?"

He brushed a hand down her hair soothingly and without saying another word, he leaned down and scooped her up, just like that day when her body hurt, head to toe, from practicing. She didn't argue with him this time, instead just lying in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her fingers vaguely playing with the buttons at the collar of his shirt.

Rachel was light as a feather. He climbed the stairs to her room and dropped her down on her bed, laying her out on her side. And while she laid there, her cheeks flushed and her tears still falling, he brushed her hair back from her face and sat down next to her. "It's their loss, okay?"

She looked up at him, mouth folded in a trebling frown. "Maybe… Maybe it's karma, right?" She shook her head. "For being such an awful person." She sniffled. "I probably deserve it."

"My dad left me when I was ten," he told her, shaking his head. "Just packed up one day and said 'peace.'"

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him sadly.

"I used to think he'd come back and I'd tell him it was cool, that I didn't need him anyway…" He licked his lips. "And then I started to think he might show up when I was famous, y'know? And I'd have proof that he was the loser, he was the one who lost out…" He tucked her hair behind her ear and traced the shell absently. "I did a pretty good job telling myself I was better off but then there were all these other times where I just… I wondered _why me?_ Like what'd I ever do wrong?" He frowned. "But I figured it out… It's _not_ me. It's not _you_! We just got the short end of the stick! I got one deadbeat dead and you got two…" He stared at her and sighed. "You're better than them… Better than how shitty they make you feel. You're Rachel _freakin' _Berry… Captain of the Cheerios, most popular girl in the school," he reminded with a wink.

She let out a choked laugh.

Sobering, he repeated sincerely, "It's _their _loss."

She wiped at her face then and reached up to grab his hand, where his fingers were still playing with tendrils of her hair. And she squeezed, knotting their fingers together. "You're an amazing person, Noah Puckerman…" She shook her head. "And I'm proud to know you."

He half-smiled, scoffing under his breath. "You're turning into a real sap, y'know that?" He raised a brow. "If the school could see you now…"

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Shut up."

He shrugged. "So? You done? You wanna start planning or…?"

She sat up and wiped her face. "I _have_ a plan. Why don't we just have dinner and you can tell me what song Mr. Shuester is planning for the assembly?" Shoving off the bed, she reached up and combed her hair together, pulling an elastic from off her wrist to tie it up. Circling her bed, she walked to her door and smiled back at him. "And thank you… I promise I'll try not to cry on you so much in the future."

Snorting, he followed her out the door. "'m holding you to that."

She hooked her arm with his as they moved down the hall and descended the stairs.

Instead of pulling something out of the freezer and heating it up, Rachel made something from scratch, making him help her prepare the vegetables and even the weird tofu she used. He watched her as she smiled, her eyes still ringed red. And he thought that without the make-up and the pretty clothes, even without the animal sweaters or the fuzzy socks, there was still this pretty girl underneath. Who was a little lost and unsure and actually pretty nice.

She fed him some of the sauce for their dinner off a wooden spoon and when it smudged on his chin, she giggled and wiped it off with her thumb. And there was a moment when, without thinking, he licked it from her finger, his tongue dragging over the pad of her finger. Her smile faded and her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed pink. His own amusement faded and his hand found her hip, where a sliver of skin was bare and warm, her sweater riding up. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest when she turned so her body was facing his. His head dropped a little and his eyes moved from hers to her lips. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he swallowed thickly.

And then he was leaning forward and she'd lifted up on the tips of her toes, her head tilted.

The anticipation made his breath catch.

The door closed suddenly, snapping them out of it, and suddenly the voices of two men could be heard.

Clearing his throat, Noah took a step back and rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Rachel, do you know whose truck that is parked in the drive?" one man called.

"Oh, uh, yes, I…" Rachel glanced at him and then turned her eyes toward the hallway. "It's Noah's."

"Noah? Who is Noah?"

They came around the corner then and stared, brows raised at Rachel at the stove and him standing near the fridge. He waved a hand awkwardly. "Uh, hi… Noah Puckerman."

"Puckerman," the shorter, black man said. "You must be Aviva's son."

He half-smiled, nodding. "Yeah."

"I'm Leroy," he said, before motioning to his husband. "This is Hiram."

"Aviva?" Hiram questioned, brow furrowed behind his square, black glasses. "_Oh! _Aviva!" He nodded. "Lovely woman."

"H-How was dinner?" Rachel wondered, looking between them.

"Fantastic," Leroy told her. "Just wonderful. I think we'll make it our new Tuesday night."

Taking his glasses off and cleaning them with his tie, Hiram nodded. "Oh, I agree."

"I… I was just making something from one of Nana Lorraine's recipes," she told them, smiling as she motioned to the stove.

"That's good. That's nice, dear," he replied. "Did you get your homework done?"

Her eyes fell. "I haven't yet. But I will."

"Good. A good education is important." He motioned at her with his finger. "How about you, Noah? How are your grades?"

"I'm honor roll," he told them.

Rachel smiled at him. "Noah's going to be a famous musician, but he thinks it's important to groom his image now."

"A musician, really?" Leroy raised a brow and looked back at Hiram. "That's not a very stable life plan, is it?"

He licked his lips, smiling sarcastically. "It is if you know you'll make it."

"He's very talented," Rachel defended, raising her chin.

"I'm sure he is… So are a lot of failed musicians." He looked to his daughter. "Which is why our little girl won't be taking risks like that with her future…" He stared at her meaningfully, his brows hiked.

Rachel deflated, her eyes moving to Noah and then away. "Of course not," she murmured.

Noah frowned. It was weird, to see somebody who was always so much larger than life, in school and out, wither in the face of her fathers.

"I should go," he said.

"But… dinner," Rachel said, staring at him sadly.

"Yeah, uh… Y'know, my mom probably expected me home like, an hour ago…" He started backing up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll see you at school tomorrow," he promised.

Turning on his heel, he started walking away, but then stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. When he looked back, he stared Leroy Berry in the eye and said, "You don't really know me, so you can't judge me or where I'm going, which is far… But you know your daughter, or you would if you spent any real time with her, and what you _should_ know is she's smart and strong and she could do anything with her life…" He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. "So I dunno, maybe instead of spending every Tuesday night at some fancy restaurant, you should try talking to your kid about what _she _wants out of her life, instead of telling her what to do with it." He saw Rachel out of the corner of his eye then, staring at him slack-jawed, but he didn't wait around for anybody to saying and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

He was at his truck, his hand on the door handle when she called his name from the doorway. He watched her as she ran across her yard, bare foot. She didn't slow down as she got closer and nearly bowled him over, but found her balanced with her hands on his shoulders. She rose up to her tiptoes then and he felt the hot puff of her breath hit his mouth just before her lips pressed against his cheek, soft and warm.

Tilting her head, she whispered, "_Thank you, Noah_."

And with that, she was gone again, hurrying back to her house, looking back only once at the door, to smile and wave goodbye.

He climbed into his truck and drove home in a fog, completely focused on that place on his cheek where he swore he could still feel her lips. And even later, when his mother got an angry phone call from her dads about his disrespectful behavior, he couldn't stop grinning.

[**To be continued**: Part Five.]


End file.
